


Good Morning, Princess Greenwald!

by provetheworst, softlyforgotten



Category: Bandom, Phantom Planet, The Young Veins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:44:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 53,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provetheworst/pseuds/provetheworst, https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyforgotten/pseuds/softlyforgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dystopian AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Morning, Princess Greenwald!

Ryan’s roommate is gone. As far as Ryan knows, he hasn’t been arrested – he left, telling Ryan to “keep this a secret, but I’m going to go stay with my family for a while, and by a while I mean a really long time” – and Ryan hasn’t seen or heard of him since. He probably hasn’t been arrested.

Brendon’s family, near as Ryan can tell, live up in the hills of Utah now. They used to live somewhere else, but his family has family somewhere thirty miles north of Salt Lake, and the compound is well-armed and well-defended and Ryan supposes it must be a little better than the city. Maybe that depends on the definition of better.

Ryan hasn’t heard anything about Utah lately, but he still worries. There are regular reports in the news of uprisings being quashed, terrorist cells being rooted out, and extremist sects being brought to rights. Still, if anyone will be fine in the face of America’s finest, it’s Brendon.

It’s mid-October, twelve days after Brendon has left, and the weather is unusually warm for the season so Ryan’s sitting in front of the fan staring at the television even though it’s just reruns of some terrible sitcom.

Someone knocks on the door. Ryan isn’t expecting anyone, but he gets up and answers it anyway.

The cop at the door brushes by him, sitting on the threadbare couch with an arm thrown carelessly across the back and his legs wide. His expression is unreadable. “Christ, it’s hot today. Does Brendon Urie still live here?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Ryan says, still standing by the door. “I haven’t seen him in a couple days. Sorry. Did you need something?”

“Did he tell you where he was going?”

“No, sorry,” Ryan says. This is technically true. He gleaned Brendon’s destination – beyond just with family - mostly from context clues, because Brendon had told him about his family a few times before and Ryan put things together.

“If you learn anything, let us know,” the cop says. “We just want to make sure he’s safe. We saw that he hadn’t been here for a few days and thought that we should ask.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Ryan says. “I’ll let you know if I hear from him.”

“You know how to contact us,” the cop says, and leaves, and Ryan narrows a squint at his door and pushes up his sunglasses because they’d slid down a little on his nose. Despite his annoyance at the unexpected intrusion, he sits back down and manages to figure out what happened on his show while distracted.

A few days go by, and Ryan manages to forget about the visit entirely. He watches TV, even though it’s nearly eleven and he should be sleeping. The screen is awfully bright without his sunglasses, which he has on the table next to him so he can grab them in a hurry if he needs them. He’s wearing his comfiest pajamas and enjoying a show about the eventual heat death of the universe.

There are footsteps on his building’s stair. He can tell, because a few of the steps squeak. It sounds like a lot of people, but curfew is long since past. There shouldn’t be that many people awake and mobile, and Ryan startles. The realization of what that means gets him on his feet, shrugging his coat on before he realizes he’s picked it up. Ryan shoves his window open and scrambles down the fire escape before breaking into a run. He has no idea where he’s going.

He almost never runs. The sound of his feet on the pavement startles him, loud as it is in the empty night.

Everything seems wrong and he can barely remember the streets around his panic, just sprints as fast as he can, heels striking the pavement too hard. His knees hurt already and he’s only gotten a few blocks. He huddles down in an alley and tries to think of someplace to go. All his friends live in buildings that ID, and the curfew means he’ll be picked up instantly wherever he goes. He sits with his knees drawn up to his chest and wonders how long until they find him and lock him up. Utah is too far away to walk.

A pair of boots crunches over the gravel and broken safety glass of the alley, and Ryan sits there with his head in his hands and just wishes he had worn something more stylish if he was going to die tonight.

Ryan doesn't look up when the footsteps stop in front of him, even though he can practically feel that shadow washing over him. He thinks of all the things he wishes he had done, of songs he hasn't written and places he hasn't seen and was probably never going to.

No one drags him to his feet, though, and he doesn’t get a gun pressed to the side of his head. His grey matter doesn’t decorate the wall behind him. This late after curfew, everything is quiet. He can hear the other person breathing, slow and steady, and Ryan tries to match that because he’s close to hyperventilating. It helps.

Eventually, eventually, Ryan looks up and is rewarded with a reassuring smile.

“Hey. You’re that Ross kid they’re after, right?”

Ryan doesn't know how to respond. He stares, and the guy says, "I'm Alex Greenwald. I'm not with the cops, don't worry."

"Okay," Ryan says slowly.

"Yeah," Alex says. He scrubs a hand through his hair, looking around idly. He's not wearing sunglasses. "Anyway, there's, uh. There's people out here looking for you and some of them – some of them you might not want finding you. They're not very nice. Do you want to come with me?"

Ryan swallows. "Where?"

"Back to my place," Alex says. "Me and some of my friends, we've got this set up going on, we can help you out. Give you a place to stay, and then you can move on or hang out or whatever. It isn’t prison, at least."

Alex's voice is kind of stupidly reassuring, and he's got that smile, and Ryan's frightened and exhausted and aware that he's been very, very stupid. He wants more than anything to think that this is going to be some kind of help, some sort of savior, but. How likely is that, really? Not so likely, he thinks.

A girl appears at the guy's shoulder, and Ryan recognizes her from posters plastered all over town; she's one of the government's most wanted, her and these three other girls. Ryan heard a rumor about a jailbreak, even. She's got short bobbed hair and eye make-up and Ryan doesn't know if it's her real name or what but when people talk about her they call her Z. She says, talking to Alex rather than Ryan, "Yeah, that's him. C'mon, we haven't got much time."

Alex turns back to Ryan and holds out a hand, focusing that bright, hopeful grin on him again, and after a moment Ryan takes Alex's hand and stumbles to his feet.

Alex says, "Awesome, come on," and they set off, not quite running but moving quickly, Ryan's coat flapping open at the sides. He thinks they must be horribly conspicuous, Z from the wanted bulletins and Alex without sunglasses and Ryan all of the above and also in his pajamas, but they don't run into any trouble. Z leads the way, down little alleys and around corners Ryan doesn't recognize, and a couple of times they stop and lean up against a wall and don't say anything while footsteps sound down the street, so close.

They keep going until they get to this little apartment block, and Ryan waits to be led up into one of the buildings. Instead, Alex goes around the side, to a door that leads into a little power room, the kind electricians tamper with and everyone else ignores. Z shifts over a crate with empty paint tins in it, and there's a manhole cover there. It's too much like a spy movie to be real, Ryan thinks, and watches wide-eyed as Alex pushes it aside and gestures for him to shimmy down.

The lights underground are strung like a mineshaft and flicker intermittently. Ryan keeps thinking of canaries and coal mines, and collapsed tunnels. Everything seems too bright, like the colors have all been ratcheted up a notch. It feels like a dream, maybe.

They head down a few levels worth of stairs and end up in a partly-finished basement, with cement floors and drywall breaking up the space. Most of the walls are covered in murals and graffiti, all strange swirls of color and illegible text. The place is sectioned off into rooms, and a few narrow halls turn off where Ryan can’t see them.

Z says, “You hungry, cowboy?”

Ryan thinks about it for a moment, then shakes his head.

“Sure?”

After that run, and the terror still sitting heavy in his stomach, he doesn’t think he could eat without throwing up. If he’s going to be hanging out with some rebels for the night, he doesn’t want to insult their hospitality by vomiting. “Uh-huh.”

“Well, we’ve got a bed free right now,” Alex says. “You get a whole room to yourself, actually. Darren kept talking about taking it for himself, but he’s too lazy to move his shit, so you’re in luck.”

“Oh.” Ryan is hopped up on adrenaline but when Alex shows him a bed he collapses into immediate sleep to the sound of Z and Alex talking with a few other voices he doesn’t recognize. He’s too tired to care who they might belong to.

When Ryan wakes up in the morning, there are clothes put out on the edge of his bed. They're not the type Ryan would usually pick for himself – pretty simple, a pair of blue jeans and a green t-shirt with DANNY'S PIZZA emblazoned across the front – but Ryan's so sick of his pajamas he could cry, and he puts them on gladly.

When he comes out of his room Alex is sitting cross-legged on the table eating toast and humming an old pop song. The dingy basement fails to live up to the standards of the rebel alliance Ryan had vague, romantic ideas about. Ryan feels sort of guilty, though, because even though they defy expectations, he’s even less the romantic ideal of an underground rebel.

Mostly, Ryan is a scared kid with no idea what he did wrong. He lacks any relevant skills when it comes to rebelling, though he can’t imagine what they’d even expect him to do. Eventually, frowning, he says, "I can't do anything.”

Alex looks up at him and blinks. "What?"

"Anything useful," Ryan says. "I'm not really -- I'm not good at that."

"Okay," Alex says.

Ryan bites his lip. "But like, if they were looking for me -- I don't wanna give the impression that I'm particularly important, or that I’ll be at all useful or whatever.”

"Okay," Alex says again. “No big deal.”

Ryan stares at him, but Alex just rests his chin on his fist and smiles a little. Ryan says, "I mean, if there's something I can do. To help."

"That'd be cool," Alex says. "You want some breakfast?"

Ryan nods. Alex sets a plate down in front of him, and Ryan wolfs down the food without even paying attention to the flavor until he's almost done. “Hey, wait, hey, this is actually really good."

"Cooked it ourselves," Alex says and it shows as an obvious point of pride. Ryan is pretty used to rations, bland at best. There's color to his meal here, greens and reds and browns. "Black bean hash. I’m pretty sure it’s actually Sam’s recipe? Darren found the peppers for it, though. It doesn’t work without peppers.”

"Yeah," Ryan says. "Yeah, yes, thank you. Thank you." Ryan feels happy to be alive. Breakfast wakes him up, and he feels alert, now, and infinitely more awake. He looks sideways at Alex, who has such clear dark eyes. Ryan stares for a moment, then blanches, scooting back in his chair. "Oh, God. I forgot my sunglasses."

Alex laughs. Last night, Z wasn't wearing any either. No one else he's seen wandering through - there are at least two other people - had any. "That's probably for the best."

"But what if," Ryan says and then thinks about where he is and who these people have to be to have saved him. Ryan's not used to being allowed to look people in the eye, not strangers. He's not used to not having wireless and being able to pull up the HUD to get stats on where he is and who he's with and their entire personal and criminal backgrounds. "How am I," he starts, meaning to ask how he's supposed to check in for his rations, because he’s poor and can’t afford much else, but he looks back down at his plate. Right. Rebel underground, not relying so much on the government food supply. "Never mind."

"Yeah, things work pretty different here," Alex says. "You get used to it. Don't worry, I can, like, show you the ropes and everything. I'm going to need to get in on a call with some people in a bit here. I guess Casablancas is having some issues, and thinks I can give him good advice. Fuck if I know. But after that, okay? You can just hang around here for a bit."

"Okay," Ryan says. He isn't going to argue.

Alex looks down at him. He puts his hand on Ryan's shoulder, and for a moment Ryan thinks Alex is going to pat it or something weird like that, but Alex just leaves his hand there and cocks his head, says kindly, "This is probably all a bit overwhelming right now, but it's going to be okay. Seriously, we're cool guys." He grins, wicked and a little unexpected, though Ryan's not sure why that is.

"Okay," Ryan repeats, but he smiles back this time, and Alex nods and hurries away. Ryan sits and waits for a long time and constantly finds himself reaching for the bridge of his nose to push up his absent sunglasses.

Someone else sits down across from him after a while. Ryan can't check to see how long it's been. "Hey, I'm Darren. You're the Ross kid, right? Do you have a first name, or is Ross okay?"

Ryan is startled but then he remembers that no one down here can check either. "Oh, no, it's Ryan. I'm Ryan."

"Cool. Nice to meet you, man." Darren smiles at him, holding a hand out perpendicular to the table. Ryan stares at Darren's hand blankly.

Ryan looks back up at him, not sure what Darren is expecting. He blinks a few times, slowly, because his eyes feel dry.

"Not much of a talker, huh?"

Ryan blinks again and shrugs, and Darren laughs and claps his shoulder for a second and then turns away, back to what he was doing, though not in a mean way. Ryan's _not_ much of a talker, really, but everyone seems pretty cool with just letting him drift around and do his thing.

At first he's wary about poking around, because he has no idea if -- he doesn't support the government, but he's seen a lot of bad press about the underground movements and maybe they'll take him off and torture him and all of this is just trying to lull him into a false sense of security. In the end, though, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he wanders around and pokes his head in doors and no one seems especially bothered when he interrupts. He watches two of them argue over something on the computer for a while until one of them notices him and says, “Oh, hey, new guy!”

Ryan just stares, then walks off to wander around a little more even though he’s mostly seen everything by now, and no one follows him or bothers him about it. They don't force conversation on him here, which Ryan likes. He hasn’t seen a clock in a while, but he’s hungry and thinks he remembers which hall to go down to get to the kitchen. He doesn’t see Alex, but Z is there, and one of the computer guys says, “Food’s on the stove, help yourself.”

Ryan looks down at the pot on the stove, then back over at the guy.

“What? Oh – yeah, bowls are in the cabinet right above, there.”

“Thanks,” Ryan says.

He goes to bed pretty early, but he tracks down Darren first, just to make sure it’s okay he’s sleeping where he is. “Did you,” he starts, and looks down.

“What’s up?” Darren says.

“Alex said you were thinking of taking the room I’m in,” Ryan says. “Before I was in it. You can have it, still, if you want, I’ll sleep on the floor or something.”

“No, it’s cool,” Darren says. “I can just take it whenever you decide to move on. I’ve been threatening to move in for months, I can hold off a little longer.”

The second morning he's there, Ryan spends a whole twenty minutes staring at the coffee maker, like it might do something without him actually touching it or putting in any coffee grounds, but the machine is stubbornly silent.

Alex shuffles in, sleepy-eyed in boxers and a ratty old striped shirt that drapes off him. The fabric looks really soft and light, and Ryan tries to figure out which of his friends it reminds him of the most, but he's not sure. Brendon's wardrobe usually fits pretty well, and Jon isn't one for stripes, but maybe one of the Nicks would wear that. Ryan decides it's a Nick shirt.

Alex gets out a fresh filter and then notices Ryan. "Did you need a little help there, buddy?"

"Uh," Ryan says. "There's not any coffee."

"No," Alex agrees, having to step around Ryan to get things ready. "There's not. I'm going to fix that."

"Thank you," Ryan says, softly. He smiles. "See, look, you just saved me again."

"I did?"

"I wouldn't have had coffee," Ryan says. "And I might have died. But you're a coffee mechanic."

"Oh, yeah, I got my certification and everything, you know." Alex nods, and then steps back waiting for the coffee to brew. "It's pretty tough working the machines every day. It takes its toll on a man."

"It's a hard life," Ryan agrees. "One I'm glad I don't have to lead."

"Oh, but you will," Alex says. "It's not all sunshine and daisies down here. Sometimes you even have to make your own coffee."

"Fuck." Ryan laughs a little, intentionally, because he wants to make sure Alex knows he caught the joke. "That's awful."

"Sometimes," Alex whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, "you even have to make coffee for other people."

"What?" Ryan asks, trying to sound taken aback and not sure if he manages. "Alex. Alex, hey, I'm not that kind of guy."

Alex sighs dramatically. "The things we do to get by. You're gonna have to get used to the way we do things 'round here, sugar."

Ryan snorts.

Alex says, "Anyway, whatever, few things - we don't usually keep any real creamer around, unless Jeff's being a little bitch again and sneaks some in. There's usually soymilk around, even though we have to make our own half the time, and there's usually sugar and whatever too. You don't have to drink it black all the time."

"Oh, good," Ryan says. He regards the machine warily, because it's making funny noises.

"Yeah, it's old," Alex says, laughing. "You get used to it."

"Okay," Ryan says. "Okay. If you say so. I'll trust you this time. That better be the truth."

-

The next day, around what Ryan hopes is lunchtime, Ryan manages to stub his toe against the wall. He stands there wincing for a second and picks his foot up and holds it tight where it hurts like the pressure might help. It doesn't, particularly, but it seems better than just cursing and whining about it.

There are five of them sitting around the table, with two chairs empty. They’re talking about some kind of file, and New York, which – that’s thousands of miles away and Ryan can’t work out why it matters but he doesn’t want to ask. One of them looks up and smiles. "Oh, hey, Ryan."

“Uh.”

“Oh, right, I’m Jeff,” he says, and introduces Sam, and Darren, even though Ryan’s already met Darren. “You know Alex already.”

“Yeah. Where’s Z?” Ryan asks, because he hasn’t seen her since yesterday and he liked her.

“She doesn’t really stay here most of the time,” Darren says. “She and her friends have their own place, but sometimes they’ll drop by, or we’ll go visit, if it’s not too sketchy up there.”

“Yeah.” Alex looks up at Ryan, like he's surprised Ryan is even there, and says, "You look like a bird."

Ryan looks down and considers the angles of his legs, the way he has his foot crossed in front. "What kind of bird?"

"Maybe a stork," Alex decides. "You've got the knees. And the skinny legs."

"I don't think I've ever seen a stork," Ryan admits after a moment.

"Just imagine you with feathers," Alex tells him helpfully.

Sam says, "Hey, anyway, so we were talking about some stuff."

"And things," Jeff says. "Stuff and things."

"Anyway," Sam says. "We were wondering - well, we were talking about who all we know that has room, and thought maybe if you wanted to get away from here, we could hook that up."

"What?"

"Like, we're happy to have you," Darren says. "But just in case you decided you wanted to be somewhere out of the city - it's a little safer out in the country. Or, hell, if you wait a week, there'll be this group traveling through, I think they're stopping at the Gray's place? And they'll be heading through just about anywhere you could ever want to go."

"You could go to New York," Alex says. "New York's really amazing. I was there for a year or so a while back."

"I've never been to New York, either," Ryan says, and then stops. He hopes this doesn't mean he's annoyed them all, and that he's getting kicked out already. Maybe they need the space he's taking up for something else. "I think - can I stay for a while, first, though? And think about it?"

"Yeah, no, of course," Jeff says. "You don't even have to leave, if you don't want to. Fresh blood keeps it interesting, right?"

"It's always nice to have somebody new to mess with," Darren tells him. "Alex is getting all predictable and shit, and Sam, well."

Sam flicks Darren off, but grins at Ryan and says, "Yeah, no, hang out with us for a bit. It's cool."

"You don't even have to do anything," Alex tells him. "Except, like, help with the chores. That's our big requirement. Dishes don't do themselves, and man, laundry."

"Fucking laundry," Jeff agrees. "If you can do the laundry, you can stay forever."

"Thanks," Ryan says, grateful and almost - not quite, he would rather be home - happy to be here. "Yeah, okay, thank you. Thank you. I can wash clothes. By hand, if I’ve got to.”

The food isn’t ready for a while after that, and Ryan is quiet while he eats, just listening to everyone else talk. He likes it better that way, trying to figure out everyone’s boundaries and personalities by observation, because he isn’t always quite ready to actually interact.

There's not a whole lot to do after lunch, though, and he feels kind of exhausted from the events of the past few days.

After meandering for a little while, he realizes he’s not quite sure which room is his, and doesn’t want to go poking doors open again. He ends up slumped in a corner, wriggling to get comfortable, and then he naps on the floor all curled in on himself with his hands underneath his cheek.

He wakes up when Alex pokes at his ribs, gently, and when Ryan blinks up Alex grins and says, "Hey, you want to sleep in an actual bed or anything? I can show you back to your room before I leave.”

Ryan says, voice rusty with sleep, "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to head further along the line," Alex says, "and you know, check some stuff out."

Ryan watches him. "Can I come too?" he asks, and Alex nods, holds out his hand to help Ryan to his feet.

-

Being outside and aboveground at this late hour is strange, and Ryan sticks close to Alex's side, sometimes falling a few steps behind because he doesn't want to seem too nervous. Up here, with the streetlights, everything is so much brighter than he remembers. It's night, but so much clearer, and Ryan finds himself wondering about daytime, if he'll ever get to see that again. Not that he ever saw it properly before. The sky is already bluer than he remembers.

Alex walks fast, but he talks to Ryan along the way, explaining little things - "Can't go down that street anymore because there's a checkpoint there, now. They just installed it maybe two weeks ago. It was bad enough when it was just buildings you couldn't go into, you know?"

Ryan thinks about how he's never going to see his apartment again, not that he owned a lot of things of value. He had some old records that, in hindsight, were probably illegal. "I guess so."

Alex says, "So yeah, we're going to see what's up at the 2300 block - nothing too crazy tonight. It's a little further than we usually go, but Sam was listening in on the dispatch and I guess some guy was taken in for gardening in an abandoned lot? Dude's been arrested already, but the plants aren't scheduled for seizure or destruction until tomorrow, so hey."

Ryan had thought maybe they were going to stage a daring rescue, break someone out of prison. Or try to find someone on the run from the law. Maybe meet some terrorist contact who would funnel them food and supplies and bomb-making materials. He hasn't actually seen anyone build any bombs, but they could be waiting for supplies, theoretically. Something exciting, anyway, except instead he's creeping around the back of a building, scanning his surroundings for any unexpected activity so they can steal fresh produce.

The air smells of fresh earth and of leafy things, and part of Ryan just wants to put his face down to the soil and appreciate it, but instead he keeps watch while Alex digs things up. There are greens Ryan doesn’t recognize, and root vegetables that pull up easy though they look a little small and early yet.

"Not as exciting as you expected, huh?" Alex keeps his voice even lower than before, and his body shakes a little with held-back laughter when Ryan stares wide-eyed and shakes his head.

Somewhere not too distant Ryan thinks he hears car tires on pavement, and he wonders if that's worth warning about, if that's the kind of thing he should be keeping lookout for, then decides that yes, yes, of course it is so he grabs for Alex's arm and they run, and Alex nearly trips and says, "Christ, what?"

Ryan shakes his head. He finds a fire escape to scramble up, because a few flights up he sees something they can hide behind. There aren't any open windows or lights on in the building. The metal structure squeaks and whines a little underfoot. He hopes it’s not too loud.

Alex's mouth narrows with disapproval but then he hears it too and he has the grace to look apologetic. A few car doors slam. They sit huddled close together, three flights up. They hide behind a messy pile of furniture and watch flashlights criss-cross where they just were and Alex puts a hand on the back of Ryan's neck and keeps it there. Ryan can't tell if it's supposed to be reassuring or to keep him still. It works both ways.

Alex still has a bunch of carrots in his other hand, held by the stalks, the tops a big leafy green spray of color.

The cops don't leave for another hour - their search only includes the ground, but they stand around occasionally sweeping the area with their flashlights, and Ryan closes his eyes and thinks about things like the color of the sky and what it must be like in Utah and how warm Alex's hand is.

They wait a while longer after the cops have left, and Alex whispers, "Up," so they go up to the roof instead of back down and walk along the rooftops of buildings pressed close together. They have to scale a brick wall at one point, but they're headed back the same general way they came until they hit an intersection. They head down another fire escape and travel at ground level from there. Alex still has the carrots in hand, even though he’s tucked the other greens away into his bag.

Ryan is hungry but he doesn't say anything about it. Carrots, he has learned, are very crunchy and loud when eaten raw.

Alex tells him, "We're gonna wander around a little bit before we go home," and Ryan figures it is home, now, and he likes that. Ryan smiles to himself, but since Alex smiles back Ryan figures that Alex can have at least a little of his smile. Just a bit.

-

"You!" Alex says a few nights later, and points a finger at Ryan.

Ryan looks up from the bowl of cereal he's eating dry. It's not a hugely appetizing meal, but there wasn't enough dinner for seconds and Ryan's still kind of hungry. "Me?"

Alex nods. "You need to come with me," he says.

"It's, like, half past ten," Ryan says. "Are we going out? I'm not sure I've recovered from the excitement of our last excursion."

"I have a surprise for you," Alex tells him, and grins, huge and confidential. Ryan bites his lip to keep from smiling, and stands up.

"All right," he says. Alex cheers.

Alex gives him a black sweater to pull on over the yellow shirt Ryan's wearing today so they can be more discreet. He's wearing a long black coat himself and he seems fairly confident, but Ryan can't help being a little bit nervous when they climb back up out of the basement and network of tunnels and into the night air. There's a dog barking somewhere nearby and Ryan shivers and walks a little closer to Alex, trying to match his footsteps to Alex's.

They don't wander as far as the other night, but they're walking further away from the city, anyway, into the hills. Alex leads Ryan to a big old house, and then they go through the garden and around the back, where there's a broken window.

Alex hands Ryan some rags to wrap his hands in, but most of the glass is gone anyway and Ryan doesn't get hurt climbing in through the window. Inside it's dark but furnished, and Ryan stands shivering with wide eyes until Alex tumbles in onto the carpet and laughs loudly.

"It's cool," Alex says. "There's nobody here, there was an old couple who lived here but the guy died and the woman left for a nursing home earlier this week. The people cleaning this out aren't being sent around until tomorrow."

"Okay," Ryan says. He squints around the dark. "Can we turn a light on, maybe?"

"It'd be a pretty obvious signal that we were breaking in if we did," Alex says, laughing. "But anyway, no. The electricity's shut off, and looters have already been here. They probably grabbed all the light bulbs and food in the pantry and stuff."

Ryan blinks. As his eyesight adjusts, he can see that the room does look like a bit of a mess; furniture thrown over or missing, what looks like the remains of a kitchen table; there are only the legs left now, badly hacked off from the surface. "What are we doing here, then?"

"Z told me about it," Alex says. "Come on."

He leads Ryan through the dark and up the stairs, rounding a corner and forcing open a tiny door. It's the attic, which is full of boxes and dust. Alex takes a flashlight out of his pocket and sets it up, pointing the light carefully away from the tiny filthy window.

"Okay," Alex says, a little out of breath from the stairs and the shoving of heavy boxes aside. "So, yeah, you know how you wanted to back to your apartment and get some stuff and that's – not a great idea, and I'm sorry, but. They've got a good stash of clothes here that didn't get touched. Z found them because she and her girls are really into like – retro sort of stuff, and they're pretty old-fashioned, but I thought maybe you might like some clothes you could pick out on your own, at least?"

"Oh," Ryan says. He grins, raking a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I mean." Alex brought him a big bag of clothes on his second or third day staying with them, explaining that they were hand-me-downs or things that didn't fit the others anymore, apologizing, but Ryan thought they were fine, and it had been cool. This, Ryan thinks, going over to open up the box that Alex was gesturing at, is cooler.

Alex sits and watches, offering commentary as Ryan goes through the boxes. He gets more and more amused, as Ryan pulls out vests and shirts with paisley patterns and goes into a little gleeful fit of delight when he finds an old blue blazer that looks like something from a marching band from long ago, a century old, even. There's a collection of hats, and scarves, though a few of them have had moths get at them pretty badly. Ryan picks out the ones with colors he likes, anyway, thinks that maybe he can make something out of them. There's a hat that he thinks would look awesome with a few fabric flowers, and Ryan had a friend a long time ago who showed him how to do that.

The pants are mostly a write off, because Ryan's taller than the man who used to live here. He finds two pairs of suit trousers that are longer, though, long enough that he'll only flash a little bit of sock when he's wearing them, and Ryan doesn't mind that so much. Mostly it's a landfall because of the truly amazing collection of shirts, and even Alex gets excited when Ryan unearths a couple of ponchos. Alex puts his on right away, over his coat, and sits there looking smug, his hair even more disheveled than usual. Ryan laughs and laughs, covering his mouth with his hand so he's not that loud, and Alex pretends to be offended.

Ryan finds a packet of guitar strings, too. There's no guitar in sight, and Ryan hasn't touched one in a long, long time, too long for him to justify the sharp, new ache in his stomach, but he stands there and holds them for a moment anyway. Alex comes up behind him and rests his chin on Ryan's shoulder, watching him.

"Do you play music?" he asks.

"A long time ago," Ryan says. He smiles. "And not very well. I was like -- I got really obsessed with old stories, you know, bands and touring and stuff. And my dad had a guitar that he gave me, even when you couldn't buy them anymore. But then they brought in the new sound laws and my dad threw it out, he didn't want to get in trouble, so."

"We've got some stuff," Alex says.

Ryan turns around and blinks. "Instruments?"

"Yeah," Alex says. "I -- they're not great, not really, just little things and we haven't got a guitar anymore. I, I broke mine a while ago, this guy got into the safehouse -- not the one we're in now, an old one -- and I hit him over the head with it."

Ryan gapes at him. "Did that work?"

"Well, it knocked him out," Alex says. "But it also broke my guitar, so."

"That sucks," Ryan says.

Alex gives him a small smile. "Yup."

Ryan looks at him for a moment, until Alex shrugs and breaks his gaze, looking away. "I'm going to keep the strings," Ryan says.

"Oh, yeah?" Alex blinks at him.

"You never know," Ryan says. "Be prepared."

Alex laughs. "Like the Disney movie?" he asks. "Or the Boy Scouts?"

"What?"

"Nothing," Alex says. "Nothing, I -- I'll show you some outdated pop culture some other time, never mind."

"Okay," Ryan says. He turns around and puts the guitar strings on top of the pile of things to keep, and when he turns around Alex is still watching him, eyes bright, so Ryan punches Alex in the shoulder. It's not the kind of gesture he usually makes, but he sort of wants to hug Alex and also knows that he might end up doing something really embarrassing like forgetting to let go if he did just now, so he settles for it. Alex laughs and says in a fussy little voice, "What is this, outright violence? I'm being abused by my dearest companion."

They get sidetracked from sorting through the boxes for a moment by having a quiet tickle fight. Alex works out Ryan's weak spot around his ribs pretty fast and Ryan falls onto the pile of clothes and it's all a little bit stupid, really, but it's a good night and Ryan forgets to be nervous.

The dawn is a surprise as they walk home. "Guess we were out longer than I meant," Alex says.

Ryan shrugs. "We don't have to do anything today, do we? We can totally just sleep."

"Yeah," Alex says. "Maybe in a little while? I'm not that tired just yet."

"Okay," Ryan says. He slants Alex a glance out of the corner of his eye. "You can show me your instruments, maybe."

"Hey, yeah." Alex beams. "I can do that. I have a mandolin, you know," he adds, and Ryan isn't quite sure what a mandolin is, has only ever read its name once or twice in old books, but he doesn't ask. He can wait for Alex to show him.

-

Ryan starts finding more things to do. Cooking takes up a fair amount of time, for example, and learning to do it takes even more because he keeps fucking up and needs a lot of oversight at first.

Darren chucks him a cookbook, and says, “Here, read the whole introduction. It’s got stuff about how to actually use kitchen utensils.”

“Oh, man,” Ryan says. “Is this a remedial level thing?”

“Yes,” Darren says, but he’s grinning so Ryan doesn’t feel too bad about it. “We’re hoping that some day you’ll actually graduate to being able to cook dinner unattended.”

“I can cook stuff,” Ryan says, defensively.

“Okay, you did make oatmeal that one time,” Darren says. “And only a little of it stuck to the bottom of the pot, that’s true.”

“It was hardly even burnt,” Ryan says, defensive, because it was really only the stuff at the very bottom, and he only forgot to stir for a little while.

“Yeah, fine,” Darren says. “You let me be the one to cook the oatmeal this morning, and I’ll let you read the cookbook. Deal?”

“That’s. Both of those are things you want to happen.”

“So it’s a deal, right?”

“Fine,” Ryan says, flouncing down in one of the mismatched chairs at the kitchen table. An old science textbook props up one of the legs, keeping the table even, and Ryan rests one bare foot on it and runs his toes up against the pages and the edges of the cover.

Sam comes in for a second, to ask if breakfast is almost ready, and when Darren tells him yes he wanders back off to fetch Alex and Jeff.

“Morning,” Ryan says to all of them, without really looking up, because he’s kind of fascinated with all the things you’re supposed to have if you want a well-stocked kitchen, like flour and salt and all these herbs and shit. “Darren, do we have dried beans?”

“Yes.”

“How about,” he says, running down the list with his finger. “Rosemary.”

“Probably,” Darren says. He pauses. “Jeff, do we have any rosemary left?”

“Nah, Sam made that sauce last month.” Jeff leans over to poke Sam in the arm. “The one you burned so we couldn’t even really eat it.”

“Yes, I remember,” Sam says. “I was there.”

“Why?” Darren asks. “You want it for something?”

“Just wondering.” Ryan shrugs and looks back down.

“Oh, hey, Ross,” Alex says. “Guess what I found the other night.”

“Uhm,” Ryan says. “Rosemary?”

“No, unfortunately.” Alex laughs a little, looking oddly pleased. “It’s better. You’re gonna like this. I’ve got a project for you, even.”

“Finally, some direction in my aimless and tragic life,” Ryan says dryly, and Alex nods solemnly at him.

“I don’t want you squandering your youth and falling in with the wrong sort,” Alex says. “It’s important to give a person structure in their life. Keeps ‘em from the dark side of the force.”

“The – right.” Ryan nods like he caught the joke, because he’s sure there was one there. “Of course, you’re right. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Anyway, it can wait until after breakfast.”

“What? No. It can’t.”

Alex sighs, and turns to Darren, solemnly telling him, “I cannot teach him. The boy has no patience.”

“He will learn patience,” Darren says, equally serious, staring wide-eyed at Alex.

Ryan frowns, sinking down into his seat a little in the hopes that maybe sulking will get Alex to tell him what’s going on, but it doesn’t work so he just finishes his breakfast instead, and rinses his dish out while he waits for everyone else to be done too.

“Oh, are you doing dishes?” Jeff asks cheerfully.

“No,” Ryan says. “It’s your turn.”

“But you’re at the sink already,” Jeff says. “And you started cleaning that dish. Might as well do the rest, right?”

“I don’t want to set a bad example.” Ryan steps back from the sink, wiping his hands on his pants. “Like, what would it – what would Sam think if he saw me just letting you get out of doing them? Huh? What about Darren? They’ve got impressionable minds.”

“It’s true,” Sam says. “We do. Show us the light, Jeff.” He gets to his feet, giving Jeff his empty dish, and Darren stacks his right on top of that in Jeff’s hands.

Alex says, “Aha, you’re catching on. Now, c’mon, hup. Follow me.”

Ryan nods, following along after Alex, and – “I know how to get to my room.”

“Yes,” Alex says. “But do you know how to get to your room with paint?”

“No, what? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“But it does,” Alex says, leaning down to grab a can of paint. There’s another one sitting next to it, but he leaves it where it is. “I tossed some brushes on your bed. I kind of figured, you know. White walls are boring, yeah? Might as well go to town on it, and I thought it’d be fun, maybe?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ryan nods eagerly. “Yeah, okay. What color is it?”

“We’ve got.” Alex frowns, hoisting the can up to get a better look at the lid. “Some weird green, and I think the other one’s orange.”

Ryan beams, resisting the urge to clap his hands together. “Awesome.”

They spend the better part of the morning painting curlicues and swirls and flowers in Ryan’s room, until Alex gets the idea to take up most of one wall with a T-Rex. Ryan paints a little police officer waving his night-stick ineffectively under the dinosaur’s raised foot, or at least, that’s what it’s supposed to be. It’s more just a stick figure with a funny hat on, but the intention is there, which Ryan feels is good enough.

The T-Rex, at least, is pretty cool.

“See,” Alex says, as he’s finishing painting on some scientifically inaccurate spikes down the T-Rex’s back. “Now it’s actually your room. It’s got - panache.”

“Panache,” Ryan laughs, and he might be a little loopy from the paint fumes. He reaches over with his paint brush, getting Alex on the nose with some of the orange.

Alex scrunches up his nose, crossing his eyes before squinting at Ryan. “Oh, no fair,” he says, and lunges after Ryan with the green. Ryan’s already darting away, even though the room isn’t that big and there isn’t much of anywhere to go so he ends up with a long stripe down his arm, carrying onto the back of his shirt.

A lot of paint ends up on the floor as they both try to even the score, and more of it ends up on their clothes, and eventually Ryan sits down laughing and out of breath. “Oh, wow, I need fresh air.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees.

“And a shower, probably,” he says, sort of contrite about having started the whole thing.

“Oh, no,” Alex says. “No, now I have to actually shower. Damn it, Ryan, I was going for a record.”

“What? How long has – when did you last shower, dude?”

Alex shrugs.

“How can it be a record if you don’t even keep count?”

“It just can,” Alex tells him, leaning forward with one hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “It can. You have to trust me on this. Believe in me.”

“Okay,” Ryan nods, and then laughs, nearly falling over backwards because Alex has sneakily kept hold of his paintbrush and painted a streak across one of Ryan’s cheeks. Alex pounces on Ryan, pinning him down for just long enough to get the other one so he’s got a matching set of lines under his eyes. Ryan nearly raises his hands to try and wipe it off but thinks better of it, laughing instead. “Fuck you. That was a low blow.”

“Yeah, but now you’re ready for the big game,” Alex says, informative and helpful as ever.

“Hmm.” Ryan gets back up, rubbing the back of his hand across his forehead before realizing he’s just smeared more paint all over his hair. “Ah, fuck.”

“It’s a good look.” Alex grins up at him, because Alex, the lazy fucker, is still sitting on the floor.

“C’mon, the paint fumes are fucking with my head,” Ryan says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex says. “Right. Okay. Up I go.” He doesn’t quite have the balance to actually get to his feet, so Ryan reaches out a hand and helps hoist him up, and he tries to ignore the fingerprints Alex’s grip leaves behind.

-

One morning, a few weeks later, Ryan gets a vacuum shoved into his hands and everyone spends the whole morning cleaning until a bunch of strangers show up, more than they have room for, and they seem to expect hospitality and Ryan has to hang one guy’s jacket up for him and fetch a glass of water for one woman. It’s all a bit frantic and no one bothers to tell Ryan what’s going on for far too long.

Eventually, when things have quieted down a little, Alex explains that it's actually just a bunch of people who are travelling across the country -- they go through all the cities, trying to spread word about how to get out and also because settling down is dangerous, they're high risk profiles. A truckload of them arrive to stay in Alex's safehouse for three days because the other people willing to take on guests are full up. If these are just the leftovers, Ryan wonders what it’s like elsewhere.

"So,” Alex explains, quietly, sitting right next to Ryan on the couch. Some of the guys staying with them are playing a raucous game of Scrabble, one of them insisting that Spanish should be allowed since they all need the practice with it anyway. “So some of these guys are going to be heading down to Mexico, right? I mean, the group’s splitting off here, but they’re headed to Mexico.”

“Okay, yeah,” Ryan says, because Darren told him that maybe ten minutes ago, oddly expectant, and Ryan doesn’t know what they want him to say. He’s been to Mexico before.

“I just – they offered, if we had anybody who wanted to go,” Alex says. “And like, I’m not going, and I don’t think the other guys are either, but I thought – you’d be pretty safe down there. You could try and find a job, and go swimming, or whatever, you know? There’s not a lot of work down there, but you could probably scrape by. There’re people who’d help you out as, like, a refugee.”

“Oh,” Ryan says.

“And it’s not like you’re that big a deal,” Alex says. “So the Mexican government wouldn’t bother with extradition or anything. They’ve been pretty fussy about that lately anyway.”

Ryan says, “What? I am too a big deal,” and is kind of - he and Jon went on a vacation to Mexico when Ryan was nineteen, four years ago now, before more travel restrictions were placed and they couldn't afford it anymore, and it was good down there, really amazing weather and wildlife and some of the cities seemed nice. Ryan thinks maybe he could do that, he could move there. He thinks about late nights breaking into houses and out of tune instruments and the packet of guitar strings he is still holding on to just in case. He thinks about a city he’s still getting to know, in whole new ways now, even though he’s lived here for years.

"No thank you," Ryan says, eventually.

"No?” Alex asks. “But –“

"It's okay," Ryan says, and Alex doesn't argue further. At dinner time, though, even though food is kind of stretched thin because of all the extra people, he is pretty sure he gets a little extra on his plate, and he is sure of it at dessert.

 

After dinner, trying to figure out sleeping arrangements, they realize that every bed is necessary and there are mattresses spread across the floor and Alex says, "Uh, hey, did you maybe want to crash with me? That frees up a bed and then we can, you know, economize and stuff."

Ryan blinks at him, and says, “Yeah, sure.”

Alex grins quickly at him and goes to explain to the bossy guy in charge of the new arrivals that yes, he's found another bed for the last two people, if they don't mind sharing, and that it's totally fine.

There's three people sleeping on mattresses on the floor in the same room with Ryan and Alex, and it feels a bit surreal, getting ready for bed, especially with Alex complaining in a harsh whisper about the guy in charge. "I mean, I get that it would be stressful and shit," he says, "but like. Stop being such a jerkwad, right?"

"Jerkwad," Ryan repeats solemnly, and Alex grins at him.

"Anyway," he says, "I forgot to change the sheets, sorry, and there's, like, none at all spare just now, but I washed them the other week? So it's not too gross, anyway."

"It's cool," Ryan says, a little surprised. He hasn't even thought of that, really, and he kind of likes it, when he climbs in. He likes the smell of fresh sheets, too, the way they smell when they've been dried recently enough that they still retain a little bit of warmth, but Alex's blanket is soft and worn and it smells like Alex, like the pillows smell like Alex, and Ryan curls up and tries not to sniff too obviously at them. It's not a weird thing, he doesn't think, it's just comforting, especially with a bunch of strangers living in the place he's kind of been clinging onto for safety of late -- strangers whose presence would have them all in serious trouble if they got found, too.

Ryan's cold, is the thing. It's turning into winter and normally they get a couple of blankets each, but they've had to share them out and Ryan's shivering, pulling his knees up as high as he can without hogging too much of the bed. His teeth are starting to chatter, too, and he tries to keep it quiet, not to disturb Alex. Alex is lying very close.

"Ryan," Alex whispers, like he's not sure if Ryan's awake, and Ryan says,

"Yeah?"

"Dude," Alex says, and laughs short and hushed. "It's fucking freezing."

"Yup," Ryan agrees, because it is, and Alex rolls over and looks at him. Their faces are close now, too, and if Ryan shifted even a little his nose would nudge Alex's. He touches Alex's nose with his finger instead, light and quick and says again, "Yup. Your nose is cold."

"Is that how you can tell?" Alex asks.

"Maybe," Ryan says. "I don't know. With dogs, it is."

"Really?" Alex shifts a little, propping his head up on his hand, elbow sinking into the pillow. "I thought that dogs are meant to have cold noses. That's how you can tell they're not sick, or whatever."

"Oh." Ryan admits, "I never actually had a dog."

"Me either," Alex says. "Sucks."

"Yeah," Ryan agrees. Alex blinks at Ryan, and Ryan thinks it's strange, how long Alex's eyelashes are, the way they lie against his cheek. He's never noticed before. Alex huffs out a laugh and says, "Hey, hey -- just -- c'mere?" and Ryan moves gratefully, without thinking, wraps one arm around Alex's back, and Alex tucks his chin over Ryan's head and shoves his feet in between Ryan's shins. his feet are freezing even though Ryan's pajama pants and Ryan huffs a laugh.

"Okay?" Alex says, and Ryan makes an agreeable kind of noise. They’ll have to sleep like this tomorrow and the next night, and realizing that, Ryan's not so cold anymore. He tucks a piece of Alex's hair behind Alex's ear so that it isn't tickling Ryan's cheek anymore and then he closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

Getting through the narrow halls in the morning is frustrating with so many new people here, since none of them know where they’re going. Ryan just wants to brush his teeth and grab breakfast but he has to press up against walls to let people wander past far too often.

Portions at mealtimes are a bit smaller for everyone, because everything needs to be stretched so much further, and Darren and Sam both seem to be spending as much time up aboveground as possible. Ryan doesn’t blame them. He just wishes he’d been asked along, even though he’s not skilled at anything in particular, just so he wouldn’t be down here listening to people whine about how much nicer it is in New York than LA, or ill-considered plans for Mexico.

Alex is busy during the day, playing the good host and housekeeper; when the toilet gets stopped up, he’s the one who has to fix it. He oversees the cooking of lunch, and he talks shop with the group leader for a while, and asks after people and gives advice about Mexico and getting back to New York. Ryan tries hard not to eavesdrop too much, but he doesn’t have anything to contribute so he wanders off again and tries to find a quiet place.

The computer room is off limits to their guests, at least, so Ryan hangs out in there with Jeff for a while. Jeff has hold of a broken pair of sunglasses he managed to find while dumpster diving a while back, and he’s messing with the code. Ryan doesn’t understand any of it, but he watches anyway.

After the group finally leaves, seen off with a miniature jam session and the flourish of the mandolin, Ryan gets to return to his own bed. Even with multiple blankets it isn't the same kind of warmth he’s already used to. He doesn’t sleep well that first night, not at all.

He wakes up because there are people talking out in the hall, and he cracks the door open and leans his head out to ask what’s happening.

Sam says, “I was listening to the police dispatch again, right, when there was a bulletin out for a girl, blonde, early twenties, last seen wearing a grey dress and red flats and without her sunglasses. Named Greta Salpeter, wanted for seditious activity, a noise complaint, and having too many people in her residence.”

"So she's wanted for a party," Ryan says.

"Yeah, probably." Alex is lacing up his boots.

"Sounds like." Darren buttons up his coat, pulling on a hat and scarf. None of them seem surprised that Ryan is awake.

Ryan goes for his own shoes and coat, but Alex says, "No, you're staying here. Keep an ear on the radio, make sure nothing else goes down. This is different from a food run."

Ryan stares at Alex, defiant, and starts to do up his coat.

Alex sighs and stands, putting a hand over Ryan's, stilling him. "No."

"Okay," Ryan says, hanging his head. He's so much better at meeting people's eyes now, but right now he just can't. "She can - my sheets are clean. When you get back, she can have my bed."

"Okay," Alex says, and smiles. There are dark circles under his eyes and he looks so tired. "That makes things easier. Okay. We'll be back soon."

Hours go by and Ryan sits at the desk with his arms folded, rests his head on them eventually and listens to the radio chatter. A lot happens that night, little things, noise complaints and domestic disturbances and a robbery or two. The dispatchers make fun of a call about barking dogs but then send officers to the scene anyway to put the animals down since they’re a threat to public safety.

Sam comes and sits for a while and they talk about music but nothing else important and eventually Sam goes back to bed. Ryan was told to keep listening, though, and he struggles to keep his eyes open but he’s awake when it matters.

It’s six AM and Alex isn't back yet. Ryan worries that maybe he dozed off without realizing it and missed something, but the past couple of hours at least he's stopped being as tired in favour of being more and more frightened. He doesn't miss when one of the dispatchers asks about that break-in at 1435 N. Poinsettia Place, and an officer responds that the situation is all clear. It's not a particularly unusual bit of information, it could be anything, but a moment after that someone else asks about the search for Greta Salpeter. "No longer necessary," the guy says, voice blurred by static, which means she's either been caught or killed.

Ryan stands up very calmly and goes to wake Sam. Sam's sleeping restlessly, and when he wakes up he blinks and says almost immediately, "They're not back yet."

"No," Ryan says. "And the police just called off the hunt for Salpeter."

"Fuck," Sam says. He struggles out from the mess of blankets and rubs his face with his hands, says. "Right, okay. Have you gotten any sleep?"

"Not yet," Ryan says.

"Go sleep," Sam says. "I'll get in touch with a few people, see if I can get into some of the police databases. Jeff's not here but he installed some new hardware into the computer and it can probably, like."

He doesn't really need Ryan there to keep talking, Ryan figures. Ryan stands up and says, "Tell me if you're doing anything or if – if anything changes."

"Yeah," Sam says, and Ryan goes off to bed. He means to go to his, but he just changed the sheets and maybe if Alex manages to break Salpeter out and get her back here after all, all this worry for nothing, then she'll probably be really tired and want to go to sleep straight away. Ryan curls up in Alex's bed, heaps the blankets up around him. He closes his eyes, and he's so tired, but he doesn't sleep very well or very much at all, tossing restlessly. He normally moves a fair bit in his sleep. When Alex had been here, they'd been tucked in too close together to wriggle.

He wakes up again a few hours later, not feeling very rested. He heads out to the stairwell, because he can’t find Sam anywhere else and Jeff is busy on the computer talking to someone. He finds Sam sitting on one of the steps, coat done up, already pulling on his boots. Ryan says, "Where – are you going somewhere? Where are you going?”

"Oh, good, you're up," Sam says. "Jeff is making some calls, and I was going to head out and see what I could figure out on my own.”

"No," Ryan says. He picks up his coat.

"Ryan," Sam says. "This is dangerous--"

"I know that," Ryan says. He looks up, folds his arms. "They're my friends, too. Alex is – Alex is my friend, too."

Sam looks at him, face blank, and then he says, "Okay."

They head up and outside, as the sun rises, the sky grey with early light, and Ryan is very nearly distracted by it - the colors! - but Sam glares at him and he shakes his head a little and hustles after Sam, head down, all bundled up in his winter gear and missing the indoors already.

The one nice thing about all this is the knowledge that the police aren't going to want Alex dead for at least a little while. They have to know how much information he has, or at least they must be able to guess. Interrogation can't happen instantly, but - Ryan keeps telling himself that Alex is too important to make an example of so soon.

Ryan hasn’t asked where they came from, but they have maps and schedules for the local police, for the boundaries of every patrol, and where which beat takes people it picks up before they get transferred from jail to a prison. There's no hope where prisons are involved, not in this area, at least. A few of the people who came through and crashed with them were broken out of a prison on an island off the Florida coast. Ryan never learns how, exactly. He just knows that, here, prison may as well be a death sentence.

Travel is slow, and Ryan doesn’t even know where they’re going. He wishes he knew the plan, since he’s sure Sam must have one. Ryan is ready to punch people or break glass or whatever kinds of things necessary to stage a daring rescue.

He doesn't think he will be very good at punching out windows or human beings, but he prepares himself to try.

The first thing they do, though, and it nearly disappoints Ryan that he doesn’t get to punch anything, is stop by an aboveground contact. The guy watches Ryan suspiciously, and the whole time Ryan never learns his name, but eight hours later he and Sam each leave with a pair of sunglasses complete with fake names and records, so they can walk around a little less conspicuously. The solution isn't perfect, and Ryan misses the brightness and clarity of color, but they manage to walk by an officer on patrol without a second glance so the trade-off seems worth it.

Sam looks at Ryan for a little while, and Ryan can't read his expression at all anymore without being able to see his eyes. Sam says, "So that was already pushing it, but after this, you're going to - you'll know things they'll want to know about. Maybe before this you could have just told them what you knew and gotten a pardon --"

"I wouldn't have," Ryan starts, but Sam shushes him.

"Hey. After this, they're not going to forgive you."

"I know," Ryan says. He keeps his arms crossed against the cold and in something like self-defense. "I know." He would have thought he was past that point already, but then - he doesn't know what they're doing. He doesn't know much of anything, just a few names here and there, the location of their safehouse and one or two others. Little things.

Ryan hasn't seen Z since that first night, and maybe a glimpse or two the next day - he's not certain. He was disoriented and confused then. They travel a circuitous route, this widening gyre of loops and doubling around, passing through checkpoints in a way that makes it look like they're going one way before they skirt around and head back the other to finally shimmy in under a loose board covering a broken window at an old warehouse. The floor is covered with dust and dirt and a few old empty bottles from a long, long time ago. Before Ryan was born, maybe.

But there is a way downstairs to a set of three rooms Ryan would never have guessed existed, and this place is better hidden than Alex's, even, not that Alex's is easy to find.

Z says, “I heard on the radio. That was you guys?”

“Yeah,” Sam says.

“Okay,” Z says, calmly, heading to one of the work tables shoved up against the wall. There are a few tables, all covered in metal and wire and tools and paint, and Ryan’s eyes glaze over trying to figure out what’s what. “Give me a while, then.”

Sam and Ryan sit and watch her, and the hours go by. Ryan spends a lot of time flat on his back on the floor, looking up at the ceiling or with his eyes closed.

"Hey, I remember you," Z tells Ryan conversationally as she snips at a bit of wire and ties something else together quickly, soldering something else to the contraption she’s been working on before passing it to Sam.

"Me too," Ryan says. "Except I remember you instead of me. I haven't forgotten myself."

"Is he just tired, or is he always like that?" Z asks Sam.

Sam shrugs, letting out about half of a laugh. "He's like that, I think."

Z smiles at him, not unkindly, and says, "Right, anyway. Maybe Sam had better handle the explosives."

Normally Ryan would bridle, because Z's only met him once before, for all she knows he could be a mad genius when it comes to reckless destruction and all, but she's still smiling at him and, more importantly, Ryan can see that she's pretty tense, hunching in on herself, moving with short, brittle motions. She's also right.

"Probably," Ryan agrees belatedly, and Z looks up and shoots him an unreadable look.

She says, "Anyway, these will hopefully get you into the complex. The first one--" she holds up something tagged with red, "-is muffled, and it'll be um, more implosion-y, hopefully it won't alert anyone right away when the wall collapses but if you place it right the security cameras will short out so you'll have someone down there to check out what's going on. This one," and she held up a second, while Ryan wondered how a wall could collapse quietly, "is for when you get down to -- for when you find them, in case you can't get your hands on some keys or something. It's pretty dangerous, get Alex or Darren to help you with it, they know what to do." She runs through some more instructions, but Ryan knows that he shouldn't handle the explosives so he doesn't pay a huge deal of attention, watches Z fidget with a loose thread on her sleeve instead.

Z clears her throat and says, "And, uh. There's more of you coming, right?"

Sam looks at her, shakes his head. "Just us," he says. "Anyway, we'll be less conspicuous like this."

"Maybe," Z says. She twists her hands together in her lap and says, "It's just. They might not all be -- quite up to making a fast escape--"

"What?" Ryan says. He stands up straighter, ears buzzing a little. "I. They've only been there for, like, two days, two and a half at most, they can't -- what?"

"Some of the police are pretty rough," Z says, not looking at him. "And Alex is well known enough that -- like, not like me, but enough, they might want to -- he's probably made their jobs a bit harder, the last few--"

"Fuck," Ryan says.

"Yeah," Z says. She looks straight at him. "So make sure you get him back."

Outside, though, it's the bright of day, barely even noon. Ryan doesn't want to ask this, hates himself a little for it, but, "Should we wait until night? Like, after curfew?"

Neither of them will look at him but they wait out the hours and go over maps, and Ryan at least gets the satisfaction of finding a solid route to the jail, the quickest way to skirt past the night's patrols. Anything to feel pleased about.

Waiting is terrible, but eventually Ryan sits down and then hours later wakes up curled up on the floor with his hands under his head and his knees curled up and a blanket thrown over him where he is. At first Ryan thinks the lights are dimmed down low, but no, he just forgot to take off his sunglasses, and his eyes flick up-left to check the time out of old habit.

They can leave soon. He doesn't feel well-rested, exactly, but a little less tired. He'd been awake too long. His dreams were terrible, full of shadows and biting things and a feeling of loss so profound it dogs him even as he wakes up. He gets Sam up - again, and Sam got sleep, so what the hell - and doesn't ask where Z went and they leave, follow the route that Ryan found behind buildings and through alleys and, at one point, across the roofs of two low buildings.

There is a high fence around the jail and its parking lot. Sam handed Ryan a pair of wire cutters way way back at the safehouse, though, and Ryan cuts part of the fence open, link by link, and the metal rattles as they both pull it aside. The parking lot has a few vehicles in it, but no people. Ryan wishes Alex were here. Alex is so much better at - at all of this, and it's not fair that Ryan has to be involved in any of this, that any of this is even happening, and maybe if he'd just gone along, or if someone else had, or if they'd waited or no one had gone after Greta at all - but that's unfair, because why was he any more deserving than Greta? He's not useful. He's not. He does what he can, and.

Ryan feels desperate and stupid because, seriously, he wishes Alex were here to help him rescue Alex, and that doesn't even make sense, and he's still kind of tired and probably about to get arrested.

The wall goes down so easily, with a whump of dust and smoke and crumbling brick, and Ryan watches it and thinks of Z and her neatly bobbed hair and her careful makeup and he kind of wants to laugh, amazed and bordering on incredulous, but he keeps it in and just kind of shakes a little in holding it back.

Sam whispers, "Hey, c'mon," and they get going down the newly-exposed hallway, down to the holding cells. There's a metal door between them and the cells but it's only padlocked shut, not electric, so Ryan manages to cut that open too, leaning heavy on the wire cutter until it finally bites through. Sam barely manages to catch the heavy lock before it falls to the floor, and keeps it with him for no good reason that Ryan can tell until it comes in handy a moment later.

A guard is snoozing at a desk, sitting in front of a computer, his head tilted back, sunglasses pushed up on his forehead. Ryan wonders if he is going to go home to a wife and kids when his shift is over, or to a dog or his friends or a girlfriend or an empty apartment and the rattle of an old radiator; the guard grumbles sleepily and just begins to stir and Sam clocks him on the head with the padlock.

Ryan whispers, "Is he dead?" and Sam shrugs, shakes his head, "I don't know."

They hurry.

The cells have heavy metal doors and the walls here are thicker, but there are eight-inch square windows crisscrossed by metal bars and they can peer through these. Most of the prisoners are asleep, people Ryan doesn't recognize. He worries that maybe Alex isn't here, maybe they took him somewhere else entirely, maybe he is somewhere being interrogated right now and this will have been pointless and they'll get arrested and killed because of it.

Sam finds Darren, and taps his knuckles against the glass until Darren wakes up all bleary-eyed and sleepy, and Ryan keeps looking while they talk in hushed whispers. Alex is at the very end of the hall, sitting on the edge of the narrow cot and staring at the wall. Ryan tries to get his attention but Alex keeps staring. He's got a black eye, and Ryan can't tell if there's anything else through the window and its narrow bars.

Sam says, shortly, "Guard might have keys," and turns back down the hall to get them and lets Darren out first, and Darren says, "Did you find - where's Greta? Is she still here?"

"Not yet," Sam says. "We don't have a ton of time." He fits a key into the door to Alex's cell, but it's the wrong one so he tries another and another and another and another, and Alex hardly stirs the whole time except eventually to lean back, arms behind his head, resting against the wall at an angle that cannot be entirely comfortable.

Darren goes looking. He seems shaken, but okay, so.

Eventually, Sam says, "The key's not on here. We don't have it."

"Are you sure? You tried them all both ways? Try it again," Ryan says, frantic. "Try them again."

Sam shakes his head and says, "We'll have to - Darren. Darren, come here. We got - Z gave us - here."

This explosion is much, much louder, and sets off an alarm, and Alex finally looks up when he gets hit with a chunk of flying concrete that leaves his arm bleeding. He looks right at Ryan and says, "Wow, you actually look just like him. Good job."

"Come on," Ryan says. "We have to go."

"Okay," Alex says, laughing. "But there are four lights. That’s my final answer, and no, I don’t want to phone a friend."

Ryan can't tell if that's supposed to be some kind of joke but he can't wait around to figure it out.

Alex moves easily enough when Ryan grabs his arm and tugs him forward, not like he's in any pain, but he won't move quickly, and he glances at Sam with the same incredulous, almost amused expression that he directs at Ryan. There's something distant in it, too, something angry, and Ryan hates it. He says, "Alex, c'mon. What the fuck?"

Alex moves easily but slow, even with the others ahead and calling out. Ryan's a little bit frantic, tugging harder at Alex's arm, and Alex says, "What's the rush?"

"Alex," Ryan says. "C'mon, we've -- we've gotta get you out of here, there are gonna be people down here any minute--"

"Yeah," Alex agrees. "I'd rather they just do what they're gonna do, instead of laughing at me first." He gives Ryan a tight, unimpressed smile, like Ryan's a stranger.

Ryan stares at him. "What did they do to you?" he says. "I. It's me."

"Yeah," Alex says. "Sure."

"Alex," Ryan says. "Alex." He can't think of what else to say, doesn't know what's wrong or what he can do to fix it. Alex looks at him politely and Ryan takes a deep breath, says, a little miserably, "Alex, we. We have to go."

"Sure we do," Alex says.

"Z's waiting," Ryan says.

"Who's Z?" Alex says, and he's still very polite but there's this flash of defiance in his eyes.

Ryan says, "Are we -- should I not mention her, in here?" He looks around, but the screen on the wall is still fuzzing grey.

"It's just not going to be that easy," Alex tells him.

"Stop it," Ryan says. His voice almost cracks. "You need to -- stop it, alright, we need to catch up with the others and just -- then we'll go home and Greta can sleep in my bed and it'll be cool, I'll stick with you, it's alright." Alex blinks, and Ryan tries not to pound at Alex's shoulder with his fist or pull him in close, either. "Please, Alex," he says.

Alex's mouth is open a little. He looks uncertain. In front of them, Sam is shouting for them to hurry up. "Okay," Alex says. He laughs, short and unhappy. "Not that this is -- okay."

The sharp cold of outside hurries Alex up a little, even as the jail buzzes into an angry swam of activity, and they duck through the fence after Sam and Darren and who Ryan assumes is Greta - the other three are a good ways ahead but Sam keeps looking back - and behind them there are sirens wailing to life and too many boots on the pavement and the night sky cut open by surgical spotlights. Ryan can't even figure out why the fuck there would be spotlights, until one nearly washes over them and he has to drag Alex behind a dumpster.

The other three disappear somewhere so it's just Ryan and Alex and too many police to even think about, and Ryan scrambles as fast as he can, zigzagging as fast as he has to and holding Alex's hand as tight as he can to make sure Alex stays with him. Alex still isn't quite with him, but he's physically there.

They lose the cops for a little while, then Ryan makes a turn and manages to run into an entirely different patrol and they have to rabbit off in another direction entirely, and he just wishes it were a little warmer out. There are shots fired this time but none of them hit home.

"This is," Alex says when they're huddled behind a tarp-covered minivan in someone's garage. "This is really creative."

"Shut up," Ryan whispers, miserably, as he waits and tries to remember where they are and how to get anywhere safe. The street has been quiet enough for long enough - there are still plenty of sirens in the area, but this street, at least - and they keep going, a little slower because Ryan's exhausted from so much running and Alex isn't doing much better. Alex keeps looking around, staring up at rooftops and the sky.

Ryan gets his bearings and heads for Z's because it's closer, even though maybe that's a bad idea, maybe he'll be bringing them down on her too, but he's gotten turned around, and, "We turn right here, yeah? And then it's - it's like three blocks, and. Something like that?"

"No," Alex says.

"No? But earlier," Ryan says, and stops himself. "Alex, we have to go somewhere."

Alex stares at him, and then lights flash across the street from the sky again and Ryan's dragging Alex behind a dumpster bin because Alex won't move that fast on his own, keeps giving Ryan these incredulous little looks. He pulls Alex in tight and thinks how this is really not his level of expertise, running from police and god knows who else, this is not what he ran away to do and Alex knows that and Ryan would just really appreciate it if Alex started acting like Alex again.

"Where are we going to go, then?" he demands. "I can't -- maybe if we just found Z's place I could get my head around where we are and head back home, but I can't. I don't recognize it here."

"What did you do with Darren and Greta and Jeff?" Alex asks.

Ryan puts his arms around Alex, hauls him in and ducks his own head. He can feel the light washing over them, but they're mostly sheltered by the dumpster and Ryan's hair is dark and the night is dark and he thinks they get away with it, especially when the light moves on. He holds onto Alex for a moment longer, anyway, breathing carefully. He was so frightened, he thinks, and he thought it would be better when he found Alex, and it is, a little, but he doesn't understand why Alex is being so weird.

"They've gone home," he says, letting Alex go. Alex isn't looking at him, face twisted up, staring at where their shoes are overlapping on the ground. "You know that, you saw -- we just got separated, is all, we'll be back with them in a minute."

Alex doesn't say anything. Ryan touches Alex's chin, tries to point him to look at Ryan, but Alex hunches his shoulders and doesn't do anything and Ryan says, "I'm going to take you to Z's."

Alex shivers. "Is this some kind of -- like, do you legitimately think I'm going to start believing you, or are you just having a bit of fun?"

"What?" Ryan stares at him. "Alex, we don't. We don't have time for this, okay, just. Come on."

He grabs Alex's hand again and pulls him out and up to his feet and then he starts running again, even though he knows that running in these quiet streets is probably going to draw more attention to them. He's too frightened to stay still, though, and he doesn't quite know what Alex is going to do or say next and he's still running on adrenaline, bitter in the back of his throat. He doesn't think about very much at all, thoughts running in a strange, frantic circle, and he thinks later that it was only because of that that they make it to Z's, Ryan running on autopilot, leaning hard against the buzzer until the door clicks open and they can stumble up the stairways.

Alex's face is white and he shakes his head. "I'm -- no," he says, and he yanks his hand out of Ryan's and tries to make a break for it down the stairs, and Ryan clutches at him, not understanding what's going on, and then Z says, "Oh, fuck, thank god," and Alex freezes.

It still takes both of them to get Alex inside, and Z takes him back to her room and they sit him down on her bed and he just stares, for a while, and Z sits next to him and Ryan isn't sure what to do. He hasn't been sure for a long time now, but. Maybe.

"Alex," Z says.

Alex stays very still and very quiet.

"He won't," Ryan says. "He's - I don't know what they did to him. It wasn't even that long, what did they do, he's."

Z says, "Alex, Alex. Hey. Are you in there?"

Alex says, "What's it matter where I am?"

Ryan takes a step away, like he's going to go somewhere else, but instead he finds himself folded up on the floor in front of the bed, head against Alex's knees, just sitting there. "You remember," he says. "That time we went and got those carrots, and they almost found us? And then the next day we had them at lunch, in that soup you and Sam made, and they were really fucking good. I don't know why I thought of that. But we got home okay. You got us home."

Alex says, "There's no place like home, huh?" and laughs at himself for it.

Ryan says, "Or. Or that time we found some eggs, and I got so excited but you wouldn't eat any, and you said I could have them myself if I wanted but you weren't going to eat them and then we ended up giving them to a whole other group instead. They gave us some apples, and you showed me how to make applesauce, so that turned out pretty good, I guess, is what I'm saying, I don't know. I think we've still got a jar or two of it, right?"

Alex lets out a slow breath.

Z catches on, has the same idea, says, "Remember that time when we were kids," and tells a whole rambling story, about stolen bikes and war paint, leaning on Alex's shoulder the whole time.

Alex has his hands on his knees, and Ryan reaches up and covers one of Alex's hands with his own, fingers curling around a little. Ryan squeezes his eyes shut tight.

Alex stays quiet, but the set of his shoulders relaxes a bit and he just sits and listens. Z has more stories, of course, and Ryan runs out of action-ish ones, and it turns into, "Remember that time we had a flour war in the kitchen and then Sam came and yelled at us?" and "Remember that thing you said -- I can't remember it properly but it was like, we laughed for about an hour, and then pissed everybody else off for the rest of the day referring to it." He almost opens his mouth to say remember when those guys were here and it was so cold but that's kind of a weird story and Z's here and anyway, he doesn't.

After a while Z says, "I'm going to get you something to eat, okay, Alex? And -- and some coffee, I think."

Alex nods, slowly, and Ryan rests his head against Alex's knees. He doesn't resist when Alex tugs one of his hands free, but he makes an unhappy face at the denim of Alex's jeans. Then Alex threads his fingers through Ryan's hair, soft and unsure, and Ryan sits still, breathing centered under Alex's hand.

"Are you going to be okay?" Ryan asks, without moving his head, and Alex doesn't say anything. Ryan looks up and says, "Seriously, what. What did they do to you?"

"You tell me," Alex says.

"No, okay, you need to stop it," Ryan says. He scrambles up onto the bed beside Alex and says, "Seriously, I'm not -- this isn't cool, dude."

Alex looks at him, and Ryan says, "Do you want to go home, or we can stay here, or, or I can take you someplace else if you tell me where and we'll just. It'll be alright. It's -- I got you out of there." He flushes a bit saying it because it was Z and Sam too, of course, maybe more, but Ryan was there, he thinks it counts. "And I'll do it again, like, if you need or whatever although. Please don't."

Alex says, "Please don't?"

"Need," Ryan says, a little embarrassed, "to be broken out again. That would involve getting caught again and that would suck."

"Oh," Alex says. He looks down at where they're still holding hands and says, "Yeah, I'm. I'll do my best to avoid it." When Ryan next catches his eye again, Alex looks shy and amazed.

Ryan mumbles, "Alex," but he forgets what he means to say so he just sits in a quiet that terrifies a good deal less than before. The room smells less like fear, at least.

Z takes a while to come back, and Ryan wonders if that's intentional, and even if it's not he silently thanks her for the time. Ryan likes the stillness, right now, and how he can hear Alex breathing and how it's at nearly the same rate as Ryan.

Alex says, very, very quiet, so low that Ryan can hardly hear him, "If we can stay here. Just for a minute."

"Okay," Ryan says, quiet too. "We can stay here for more than a minute, though, unless you want me to start counting."

"No," Alex says. "No, don't. Maybe a few minutes. Or a few hours. Whichever. Just, yeah."

"I won't," Ryan says. "It's not a big deal, I don't think. We'll stay until we leave." He musters up a small smile, and it isn't quite returned but Alex is, at least, closer to relaxed, somewhere near to what Ryan might dare to call at ease even, though not quite there. It's better. "No hurry."

Z comes in with three mugs, one with a broken handle that she keeps to herself. Alex gets the world's best dad!!! mug. Ryan's has wolves on it.

Alex just sits and stares at his for a while, looking down into the dark liquid. Z sits a little further away on the bed now that Ryan's in her old place.

"Oh, should I," Ryan says when he realizes, and makes to get up. "I took your spot -"

But Alex holds onto his hand, staring at him, and so Ryan settles back in. Ryan says, "It's pretty comfy, though. I'll keep it for a bit, if you don't mind."

"It's okay," Z says. "Food's still heating up, by the way. I've got stuff simmering, I guess? It's cooking. There might even be enough for seconds, unless Laena gets back early."

"Thank you," Ryan says. He takes a careful sip of his coffee but it's still too hot. He almost wishes he had both hands to steady the mug, but he doesn't think Alex is going to let go, so.

Alex keeps staring at his, until Z says, "I put in one cube of sugar. We don't have any non-dairy creamer, though, sorry."

"It's been a while since I had a latte," Alex says, thoughtfully, like he is thinking very hard about lattes he has had in the past.

-

When Z brings the food in, Alex drops Ryan's hand and eats faster than Ryan's ever seen anybody eat, and Ryan feels a little bit sick, because he didn't even think and Alex didn't ask but probably Alex hasn't eaten since he left the night before. He says, "Careful, you'll make yourself sick," and puts his hand on Alex's shoulder, rubbing lightly at it, and Alex shoots him an affronted look that is very close to what Alex normally is, close enough that it makes Ryan duck his head and grin.

It's a kind of curry; there's thick orange sauce that tastes like coconut and sweet potato and red lentils, and it's good and Ryan eats his quickly, though less because he's starving and more because he wants to be ready when Alex finishes, for whatever Alex wants to do. Alex mostly just sets his bowl down and picks his coffee back up -- his second cup, but he's looking sleepier by the minute; still wary, just kind of losing the battle to keep himself upright -- and then settles back against Ryan's side, so Ryan figures they're not going anywhere.

"We should probably tell, um, Sam and them," Ryan says. "They could be worried."

"I already did," Z says, and grins, and Ryan grins back at her.

Alex says, "What time is it?"

"Nearly dawn," Z says.

"Hmm," Alex says. "Yeah, I."

"You should probably get some sleep," Z says, and Alex looks at her like he's relieved that she said it so he didn't have to. Then he looks suspicious for a moment, but Ryan taps at Alex's knuckles, humming out a song he can't remember the words to, and Alex nods.

"Yeah," he says.

"You can have my bed," Z says. "I'm not -- I might go out, for a while, go see Annie about something. Ryan, I've got a spare mattress, you cool with the floor?"

"Sure," Ryan says, without looking at Alex.

They get settled and Z makes up her bed for Alex and then a mattress on the living room floor for Ryan, and then she goes in the kitchen and starts talking to someone, low, on her cell. Ryan lies awake and listens to her leave, doesn't move, stares at the ceiling. He counts minutes all on his own, because Z doesn't have a clock he can see, one to sixty thirty times before gets bored and just lies there. A couple of times he thinks he hears heavy footsteps on the stairs outside Z's apartment and his heart sticks in his throat but nobody ever comes in.

Alex appears in the doorway. "Ryan?" he whispers. Ryan stands up and goes to Alex and then they go and crawl into Z's bed together. Ryan falls asleep pretty easily after that.

-

Laena's back the next day - or night, whatever, their hours are weird - though Z is still out, and when they get up and wander out of Z's room towards the kitchen she salutes and says, "Hey, Greenwald. Hey, new kid."

"Hey," Ryan says. "It's Ryan. My name is."

"Oh, great, I was wondering," she laughs.

Alex just nods at her, giving a little wave.

"We were gonna go," Ryan says.

"You want breakfast or anything?"

Alex holds up an apple he stole, and shrugs.

"That's cool," she says. "Well, hey. See you later."

They leave and Alex lets Ryan lead him home, more jittery when they're back outside. Alex is better this morning, a little, but still not quite right, and it's still chilly and Z and Laena didn't have any coats that fit quite right. Alex isn't in his own clothes, wearing ill-fitting grey instead.

Ryan thinks about going straight home, but there's a good dumpster on the way home, and he stops to dig through it and finds some edible-looking produce, some grapes and arugula and a few potatoes with itty-bitty eyes and he stuffs them all in a plastic bag.

Alex is standing waiting with his arms crossed and his knees pressed together, shivering, hands in his armpits. Ryan says, "Ah, fuck, hey, let's get going, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," and they go but Alex seems off again, gone someplace else in his head and they finally get back home and just inside the door.

Ryan pulls Alex's hands to him, and they're cold just to touch, not that Ryan's are a whole lot better on that front. He leans his head down, blowing on Alex's hands to warm them up. His own get warmer in the process, just a nice bonus on the side.

"I'm sorry," Ryan says again. "We're home. Do you want to - I think the hot water is working again, Jeff said, maybe a bath or shower to warm up, and you can get back into your own clothes and under some blankets and everything. It's really cold, huh?"

"Not really," Alex says.

"You were shivering, though," Ryan says. "I thought it was cold."

"It's not that bad out," Alex says. "Pretty nice, really."

"Alex," Ryan says, and it's only then that Alex seems to actually see him again.

"Okay," Alex says. "A - yeah, a bath sounds good."

Sam shows up, all, "I thought I heard you guys, shit. We were so. Greta's all settled in and everything, don't worry. She's in your bed right now, Ryan, but we can get one of the mattresses set up for you soon, we just didn't know when you'd need it. I'll get Jeff to do it. Darren's taking a nap."

"Hi," Alex says.

"Hey," Sam says. "How are you?"

"I'm here," Alex says. "So that's good."

"Oh, definitely, definitely," Sam says. "Are you feeling okay? You want anything?"

Alex shrugs. "I'm going to take a bath, I guess. Can I - can you make me a latte?"

"Yeah, man, I think we've still got some soy milk."

"Okay," Alex nods. "Sweet. Thanks, man." He walks off, towards the bathroom, kind of slow.

Sam looks after him, and says, "Do you need to sleep, or are you okay?"

"I'm okay," Ryan says. "We got some rest at Z's."

"That's good. It'll be a bit before we can get shit ready."

"I, uhm," Ryan starts, then stops himself, shaking his head a little. "Anyway, I'm gonna go and - make sure Alex is okay and all."

Sam looks at him. "Okay."

"Alright." Ryan squeezes Sam on the shoulder, because he figures he should acknowledge the dude's presence or something, then trots off after Alex.

-

When Ryan taps on the bathroom door Alex says, "Come in," right away, and Ryan's a little bit hesitant but when he pushes open the door Alex is still completely dressed, sitting on the edge of the bath with one hand trailing in the water. Ryan looks at him and smiles and Alex looks back, dark-eyed and serious.

Ryan says, "Um, did you want me to get you anything? Like -- clothes for after, or something?"

"No, thank you," Alex says. He taps his fingers on the edge of the bath, and the water is getting pretty high, higher than they usually have it. Ryan leans over Alex and twists the tap off. "Thank you," Alex says, again.

"You're welcome," Ryan says. He's a little bewildered. Alex trails his fingers in the water, watching the ripples move out. "Do you -- do you want me to go out? Cleanliness, man, it's pretty fun."

"And," Alex says, ignoring this last, still not looking at Ryan properly, "for, you know. Getting me out. I guess."

"I guess," Ryan agrees, wonderingly. "You guess."

"Mm."

Ryan says, "We wouldn't have - have just left you. I'm sorry we took so long. But we wouldn't have, not ever, I, we all need you here, okay?" He isn't sure, really, if this is the right thing to say and thinks at the same time that he has said more than he meant to, but this isn't his department at all. Ryan remembers getting here, and telling Alex, warning him how he's not good at being useful, not especially, but - well. He doesn't have much choice right now. He's trying, at least.

"I said thank you," Alex says.

"Okay. I - okay, yeah, you did," Ryan agrees. "You're welcome. It was my, our pleasure, you know."

Alex starts laughing, and Ryan can't tell but he doesn't think it's quite sincere. He can't help but laugh a little, too, at how absurd this is. He wonders if, maybe, standing while Alex isn't, if that's bad, if they should be on the same level, so he sits on the edge of the toilet seat and leans forward a little because it's pretty close to the bathtub.

It's not really a good sound, Alex's laugh. Ryan's heard Alex laugh a lot of times, but this maybe doesn't live up to the name, not quite, but Ryan can't quite come up with another word.

"You're here, though," Ryan says. "You're here. Are - are you still cold?"

Alex shrugs.

Ryan scoots around, moving to sit on the edge of the tub next to Alex and drags Alex in close and hangs on very tight, and Alex is still cold, Ryan can feel it, and Alex keeps trailing one hand back and forth in the water but eventually the other one comes up somewhere near Ryan's elbow and Ryan just hangs on and on. "I bet. I bet Sam's going to make something really good with those potatoes, in a bit, maybe mashed potatoes. With soy milk and everything so it's not hurting anything or anybody." Ryan has no idea why the fuck he's talking about mashed potatoes, because there are about a billion other things that could be done with the potatoes he found, if they're even still good.

Alex swallows, and he says, "Ryan," for maybe the first time since getting out, and Ryan's going to take that as a good sign because he really wants one of those right now because he thought Alex was doing better. Alex was doing so much better.

"Yeah," Ryan says. "Yeah, what's up?"

"Will you - here," he pushes Ryan away, a little, and Ryan stares at him and Alex starts to undo the top button on the dreary grey shirt he's wearing but his hands are stiff and he drops his hands after getting that done and stares at Ryan until Ryan nods and says "okay" and leans in to help, very carefully, very intent on each little clear plastic button.

Alex sits very still. He has a lot of bruises, and some of them are some absolutely phenomenal shades of yellow and green and a sickly purple, and Ryan is very, very careful. Alex must be hurting, but he hasn't betrayed it at all yet.

"I'm sorry," Ryan tells him, and he's apologizing for a lot of things at once right now. He wishes Z were here, but thinks probably it is too dangerous to call her because she is just as wanted as Alex, probably - maybe more, but maybe not now that Alex has been broken out of jail. "I miss you," Ryan says, which is accurate, if nothing else, and, with a bit of a laugh, "The whole time we were - while we were getting ready and when we came to get you, I just kept wishing you were there to help because you'd be so much better at everything I had to do. Than me. You'd have."

He thinks maybe Alex will laugh, because of how stupid that is, but he doesn't, he just looks at Ryan very seriously and nods and says, "It's okay. You did okay."

Ryan helps Alex get his shirt off, and he's not sure if he's supposed to but he helps him with his pants, too, which are just tied shut by a drawstring, no zipper or anything so once the string's undone they slide off pretty easy and Ryan says, "You wanna get into the bath?"

Alex shrugs, and then gets in on his own and lies back and looks up at the ceiling, and Ryan says, "Should I go?" but he thinks that even if Alex says yes that maybe he should stay to make sure that Alex doesn't - fall asleep or anything, not with the water as high as it is.

"Nah," Alex says. "You might as well stick around."

"I've been here this long," Ryan agrees. He thinks a lot of stupid things, things he shouldn't think about, so he doesn't and instead he offers Alex some soap that Alex just holds cradled between his hands like a baby bird until Ryan says, "Dude, you remember what to do with that, right?"

And Alex mostly laughs, and that's good, says, "Yeah, sorry."

"No, it's cool," Ryan says. "Just checking."

"Mm-huh."

"Did you want," Ryan starts, and pauses. "Help or anything?"

Alex doesn't really pause or anything, just hands the soap over, and Ryan gets on his knees beside the bath, rolls his sleeves up. The bath walls aren't very high and he can lean over pretty well, lathers his hands up with soap and water and starts washing Alex's back. He's as gentle as he can, but he can feel how tense Alex is beneath Ryan's hands, almost trembling with it, and it's probably hurting a fair bit.

"Sorry," Ryan mumbles, and Alex shakes his head. The ends of his hair are wet, and Ryan watches them stick to Alex's skin. Ryan thinks about the way he made Alex run, when they were leaving the jail, the way Alex didn't even flinch, he thinks about the way he gripped Alex's arm and pushed him down when they were hiding and he kind of wants to cry or something. He ends up just stroking a line down Alex's spine, whispering that he's sorry again. Alex doesn't react.

He washes Alex's back and chest and shoulders, and he lifts Alex's hair up and drapes it around to the side so he can get at the back of Alex's neck, too. He hunts around in the bathroom cupboard until he finds an empty plastic container that doesn't look like it's being used for anything and fills it with water, tells Alex to tilt his head back and close his eyes. Alex flinches a little bit but he does it, and Ryan curves his hand around Alex's jaw and pours it down Alex's hair. It takes three refills to get it completely wet. Alex's hair is pretty thick.

"You want me to wash it?" Ryan says, and Alex makes an agreeable sort of sound, so Ryan does. He's still wary about hurting Alex, which means he's probably not doing a very good job of washing Alex's hair, not daring to dig his fingers into the scalp, but it's probably the best he's felt since the whole awful thing started. He's doing something, at least, and it feels vaguely constructive and not like it can backfire on him, not like Alex is going to go all weird on him like before. Actually, Ryan supposes Alex probably could, and would have good reason to, by anybody else's standards. Ryan hopes not, though.

"Time to rinse, close your eyes," Ryan says, and Alex does, and when Ryan smoothes Alex's hair back, almost brushing out the suds when he pours water over Alex's head, Alex leans back into the touch.

He tucks the container away and says, "So. All clean."

"Mmm," Alex says. He frowns a bit and says, "I want to brush my teeth."

"I'm not sure brushing your teeth in the bath is such a good idea," Ryan says. He brushes his in the shower sometimes, but the shower rinses things away, straight down the drain. Probably the bath would be a little gross.

Alex nods. "In a minute," he says.

"Are you warmer?" Ryan asks. "You've stopped shivering."

"Yeah," Alex agrees. Ryan waits, and Alex looks up at him and says, "Yes. I am. It's cool."

"Technically not," Ryan says, and grimaces, because that was really bad, but the corner of Alex's mouth quirks and he pulls his knees up, loops his arms loosely around them.

"Right," Alex says. He blinks and frowns, looks up at Ryan and says, "Is there something I should be doing?"

"What?" Ryan stares at him. "I. No. You were just -- I think you're good to do what you like for a little while."

Alex nods. "I need to brush my teeth," he says again.

"You want to get out of the bath?" Ryan asks.

Alex doesn't answer properly, just rubs his hand against his mouth over and over. Ryan knows he's a bit spacey, that he might zone out, so he tries to avoid looking at Alex's mouth in the first place, but it's difficult when he's doing that. "My mouth tastes funny," Alex says eventually, frowning like he doesn't entirely understand why.

"The water's going to get cold," Ryan says, when Alex just sits there for another few minutes. "C'mon, up. There we go. Okay. You've got it."

He goes to hand Alex the towel but Alex just blinks at him, owlishly, and Ryan sighs and says, "Okay, okay, fine," and does everything for him, dries him off as carefully as he helped wash, and he very intently does not look at him at all. "I'm not brushing your teeth for you, though."

"No," Alex agrees. "That would be weird."

"Uh-huh," Ryan laughs. "Just a little."

"A teensy bit," Alex says, holding his fingers and thumb just a little bit apart to show just how teensy a bit weird it would be.

"You're so weird," Ryan says, and really, he's usually so good at looking people in the eyes, he has gotten so much better at it, but he thinks looking at Alex right now is maybe a little too awkward. "Do, uh. Did you wanna put that towel on or anything?"

"Oh," Alex says. "Right, I guess."

Alex ties the towel around his waist, and picks his toothbrush out from all the others in the holder, and then stares at himself in the mirror for a while before actually doing anything. After, he says, "My teeth felt weird."

"I hear that happens sometimes," Ryan says. "When you don't brush them for a while."

"Yeah."

"All better now, though, right?"

"Yeah, it's good," Alex says. "I'm all minty fresh now."

"Let's - I'm gonna take you back to your room, you can put on some clothes or whatever, I'll give you a minute," Ryan says, because he kind of - he feels guilty, a little, but he just wants to talk to someone else. Sam or Darren or maybe Jeff, if he's around, any of them, because as far as he knows they're all okay, and Ryan wants something like reassurance right now.

Alex frowns, and Ryan feels miserable but he says, "Only a minute. I'll be right back."

"Fine," Alex says eventually. "I, yeah, I. Okay. You'll be right back?"

"Uh-huh."

"Sweet," Alex says. "Sorry to be monopolizing all your time or whatever."

"It's okay," Ryan says. "I'm gonna see if there's food, too."

"Right," Alex says, and he gets back to his room just fine but Ryan follows him there to make sure, and Alex says, "It's okay. I'll see you in a bit."

"A teensy bit," Ryan agrees, mimicking Alex's earlier gesture.

-

 

Ryan goes into the kitchen and puts the kettle on the stove. He really does mean to talk to Darren or someone, maybe say hi and introduce himself properly to Greta, but he ends up just standing at the counter with his fingers curled around the edge, pushing himself up on his toes, arms straining, head bowed.

"Ryan?" Sam says, and Ryan drops back to his feet properly, turns around and smiles.

"Hey," he says.

"Is Alex--"

"Just getting dressed," Ryan says. Sam watches him without saying anything and Ryan breathes in, asks, "How are the others doing?"

"All right," Sam says. "Darren has a sprained wrist and Greta seems a bit frightened, kind of -- I guess she wasn't expecting all of this."

"Makes sense," Ryan says.

"But yeah," Sam says. "It's. It's alright. How's Alex? His latte’s getting cold."

"Oh. I don't know," Ryan says. Sam bites his lip and Ryan says, "Like, I don't get what's going on with him. In his head."

"Yeah," Sam says. He just looks at Ryan, and then he nods a bit and says, again, "yeah."

Ryan looks down, shrugs a little. "Anyway," he says. "I was just. It's good that the others are okay, that's good."

"Ryan," Alex says, and Ryan looks up. Alex is standing in the doorway in jeans and a thick sweater and a pair of socks. His hair is wet and tangled all down his back. Alex stares straight at Ryan and says, "That was more like this," and holds his fingers and thumb apart again, about twice as big as last time.

Ryan laughs, short and startled. "Right," he says. "Sorry, I. The exact details of that kind of measurement slips by me sometimes."

Sam says, “Hey. Got you your latte.”

“Oh, thanks.” Alex stands staring at him until Sam picks the mug up off the counter and hands it to him directly. Alex holds onto it and looks down at the warm liquid. “Looks good.”

"S'okay," Sam says. He looks easy, leaning back against the table, but his eyes are sharp, tracking every move Alex makes. "How you feeling, man?"

"Okay," Alex says. He looks at Ryan again, quick and fleeting, and Ryan takes a step towards him, not entirely sure what Alex wants.

"I mean, like," Alex says, suddenly, and it’s strange and unexpected when his expression goes hard and angry. He’s still staring down at the mug Sam handed him, both hands wrapped tightly around it. He has yet to take a drink. "Fuck those guys, thinking that - any of that is something you can even. Do to a person. And just. Fuck those guys."

"Yeah," Sam says. "Yeah, no. What did they do to you, man?”

"I don’t really feel like talking about it, okay," Alex says. He shakes his head, hard enough that his wet hair hits his face, and that startles a bit of a laugh out of him at least though it's more just surprise. He brushes his hair back behind his ears again and says, "Fuck them."

"Yeah," Ryan agrees for lack of anything better to say. He shares the sentiment, but mostly he's just worried and tired and hungry. The kettle goes off, though, so he turns off the heat and pours a cup of tea, then says, "You want some too?" in Sam's general direction.

"Yes, please,” Sam says.

Ryan sits down at the table while he waits for his tea to brew, watching the clock, and eventually Alex comes over to sit immediately next to him, nudging at Ryan's ankle with his toes. Ryan nudges right back, and Alex even smiles at him, so that's good.

Alex doesn’t sleep that night. Eventually, the others wake up again, too. Darren only just got back safe himself, and Greta’s new, and Sam made that latte last night so Ryan waits until he has a second to talk to Jeff.

“Jeff,” Ryan says to him.

“Ryan.”

“Can you –“ He lowers his voice, carefully. “Watch Alex for a bit? I don’t want him thinking he’s being left alone, or whatever, but I need sleep.”

“You never got any?”

Ryan laughs.

“Okay,” Jeff says, hastily. “Don’t worry about it, man.”

“Ryan,” Alex says, from the couch where he’s spent most of the last few hours. Ryan wonders if his spot next to Alex is cold yet.

“Hey, man,” Jeff says.

“Hi, Jeff,” Alex says. “Tell Ryan to get his ass back over here.” He attempts a smile but it’s brittle.

Ryan feels guilty, but he’s exhausted, too. The little bit of rest he got at Z’s wasn’t near enough.

Jeff sits down, and, Ryan is grateful to note, not in Ryan’s spot. “Ryan’s gotta get some rest, dude.”

“But I don’t –“ Alex starts, then stops himself, going tense. “Jeff.”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me a story, so I know you’re the real deal.”

Jeff laughs, looking confused, and Ryan stops listening because he knows if he stays any longer he’ll end up folding himself back up at Alex’s side and staying awake for however long it takes.

-

The next few days are weird, with Alex getting closer and closer to better and fine but still having these moments where he just seems utterly lost and terrified, and two days later Sam asks, "Did you want your bed back? Greta says she's sorry for taking yours."

And Ryan has to shake his head and say, "No, uh, not - for right now. It's okay."

"You sure? We can get something sorted out."

"It's fine," Ryan says, more certain this time, and convinces himself that the reason he wants to stick close to Alex is to make sure that he really is okay, even though Alex sleeps fine through the night and is so, so much better now. The bruises are fading, and, for example, right now Alex is taking a bath all by himself even though he refuses to take showers just yet. "I want to make sure he's okay. At night. You know."

"Is that," Sam begins, but shrugs. "Well, that's cool. We're all here, though. We can keep an eye out. It's not just you."

"I know," Ryan says. He thinks of the patterns of bruises on Alex's chest, of being very gentle in tracing the outline of one and saying, this one looks like a rabbit and this one looks like a house and this one doesn't look like much of anything, though, it's healing up pretty good, and Alex just breathing so slowly and watching him do it. "Thank you," Ryan adds. "For - everything and all, I guess."

Sam looks at him for a minute and then he says, "I'm glad Alex found you," and walks away. Ryan leans back against the counter for a moment and tries to work out what Sam's expression just then had meant, and then he gives up and starts heating up some of the vegan fried rice they had last night. (Vegan less out of deference to Alex's eating habits and more because ingredients were running low, but still pretty good.)

-

Ryan wakes up to Alex cursing softly to himself on the other side of the room. He sits up, scratching his head blearily, and Alex looks up from where he's hopping into a pair of trousers.

"Alex," Ryan says.

"Shush."

Ryan blinks and tries again, lowering his voice. "Alex. What are you doing?"

"I'm getting out," Alex says.

Ryan stares. "What?"

"C'mon," Alex says, and he comes over and takes Ryan's hand, pulls him upright and shoves a t-shirt at him. "Come on. Hurry up."

"Alex--"

"Shut up," Alex says, holding on tight to Ryan's hand, and it's then that Ryan notices the knife in Alex's other hand.

He sucks in a breath. "Hey. What are you doing?"

"Let's just go, come on, please," Alex says.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"Ryan," Alex says, and he looks unhappy and a little wild, looking over his shoulder. "C'mon. We have to go."

Ryan swallows. "It's the middle of the day. We shouldn't go outside in that."

Alex makes an impatient noise and turns on his heel, and Ryan hurries to keep up with him, grabbing Alex's wrist and following him out the door and through the kitchen into the tunnel beyond.

They get all the way outside before Alex turns around and looks at Ryan, looking sort of sheepish.

"Hey," Ryan says, quietly. It’s a surprisingly dreary day, clouds hanging low and grey in the sky. Ryan thinks it might rain later. "What do we do now?"

Alex shivers. They're not really dressed for the chilly weather, and Ryan puts an arm around Alex's shoulders and hugs him in close. "Sorry," Alex says.

"It's cool." Ryan shrugs. A drop of water hits him on the nose. He looks up briefly then remembers that it’s Alex he’s concerned about now. "Little night time adventure."

"I wasn't sure where." Alex breathes in sharply, rubs his hand against his nose. His wrist is bony, and Ryan reaches out with his other hand to circle his fingers around it, slide his hand up to where Alex is still clutching the knife. The blade is flicked in now, at least.

"It's cool," Ryan repeats. "You want to go back to bed now? We probably shouldn't be out here. There's patrols and things."

"Yeah," Alex says absently. He looks around. "They -- they catch you by surprise. Sometimes. You know."

Ryan watches him, waiting, but Alex doesn't say anything else. "Okay," Ryan says.

"Anyway, yeah." Alex shakes his head, like a dog waking up. "Let's go back to bed. It's cold up here."

Alex holds onto Ryan's hand very tightly, all the way back through the tunnels and the dark.

-

It’s a reasonable enough time when they wake up again. There’s even less to eat this morning, but there looks to be just enough of the fried rice left for everyone if their portions are on the small side, so Ryan gets out a pan to reheat it a second time.

Greta comes out while he's still heating it up, and he grins at her quickly and says something inconsequential about how there should be enough for her to eat too. She laughs and puts her chin on his shoulder, watching him cook. Ryan likes Greta. He hasn't had much time to get to know her over the past few days because he's been with Alex most of the time but she's friendly and sweet and one morning he shuffled out to try and make some coffee and she gave him the cup she'd just made. "Least I can do for the dude whose bed I'm sleeping in," she had said, and so Ryan is pretty fond of her.

Ryan says, "Hey, hey."

"What's up?" Greta says.

"I'm. Do you know what's happening?" Ryan asks. It's a little bit silly, considering she's newer here than him, but she has been spending time with the others so she's maybe a little more clued in. "Around here, I mean. Do you know whether anything's being planned?"

"I think everyone's just settling down," Greta says. "Plus, you know. I get the feeling they're waiting for Alex."

Ryan glares at the rice, switching off the heat and piling it into bowls a little too vehemently, maybe. "I wish they wouldn't," he says.

Greta takes one of the bowls and looks at him consideringly. "I don't think Alex would want to be like -- permanently off rotation," she says. "Or whatever they call it here."

"Doesn't mean they should sit around, like, pointedly waiting for him to get better," Ryan says. He pushes a hand through his hair and says, "He. He's really."

"I know," Greta says. She looks at Ryan, steady and calm, and says, "It was really scary."

"I think they did stuff to him," Ryan says. "Like. That he's not telling us."

"I think so, too," Greta says. "I saw them march him past my cell a couple of times."

Ryan swallows. "What did he look like?"

"He was laughing," Greta says.

It was only three days, Ryan reminds himself. Maybe not even that, closer to two and a half. When Alex appears in the doorway, though, hair wet from his bath, rubbing sleepily at his eyes with his sleeve, Ryan can't help the way his stomach twists, the way he shuffles in closer to Alex when Alex comes to get the bowl of rice Ryan holds out. Alex blinks at him and says a quiet hello to Greta and then he tucks his head against Ryan's shoulder and Ryan doesn't move.

Ryan breathes in deep and keeps still, because he likes how Alex smells and because he doesn't want to do anything stupid. Sometimes, just sometimes, he finds himself thinking about things he knows he shouldn't ever ask for.

Eventually though Ryan says, "Hey, c'mon, our food is gonna get cold."

"Right.” Alex nods a little, the motion small against Ryan’s shoulder, but he doesn’t move.

"Somebody's going to have to get more soon," Ryan says. "Food, I mean. You want me to ask Jeff?"

Alex steps back and looks at him. "I can ask him.”

"I know," Ryan says, careful. He sits down at the table. "It was just. In case. I could do it."

"Yeah," Alex says, and he sounds somewhere between incredulous and amazed. "And Jeff's a good pick. He wasn't. He wasn't there, so."

"Right," Ryan nods. He sits and eats for a while, Greta doing the same across the table.

Eventually Alex says, "I’m going to ask him, though. Not you, you don’t have to.”

"Okay," Ryan says. "Okay. Sorry."

Alex opens his mouth to say something but closes it again without doing so, and he takes his time eating.

Ryan just wants to make sure everything works and everything is okay, and mostly that Alex is okay and they all (Alex, always Alex) have enough to eat.

Greta says, "Hey, Alex. Darren told me to tell you that Annie called, she says-- Z? Z was asking after you, he said to say. And Ryan, she says hi."

"Oh, thanks," Alex says. "Somebody should have got me."

"Oh," Greta says. "Well, it was late, I guess, and you and -- you were already in bed."

"Are people just not telling me things anymore now? What is this?"

"You were asleep," Greta says a little helplessly.

Ryan stands up, and he feels all tense and annoyed, at not having any idea what's going on, first of all, but even worse -- he knows Alex hasn't been okay, but still. "I'll talk to them," he says. "I'm gonna. I'll talk to them."

Alex says, "No," and he sounds frustrated and more annoyed.

"What?" Ryan says.

"I can talk to them myself," Alex says. He eats quickly, free hand curled around the edge of the table, frowning at the wall. "I don't need -- I'll just talk to Sam, it's fine."

"I don't mind," Ryan begins.

"I know you don't," Alex says. "You don't mind anything."

Ryan looks up, startled. Alex still isn't looking at him, but his expression is harder than Ryan is used to. "I don't know what you mean," he says, low. Greta looks uncomfortable, glancing between the two of them.

"I mean, it's like, whatever I want, right?" Alex says. "Whatever I want, except, except -- you know, I'm not hugely fond of being your new direction in life, Ryan."

Ryan stands up, setting his bowl on the sink. "Sure," he says. "Sorry." Alex opens his mouth again but Ryan doesn't particularly want to hear, walks out of the room and into Alex's bedroom. It kind of sucks that he doesn't have anywhere more private to go, but it's still daylight and not worth the risk of going outside onto the fire escape or something, and he's not rude enough to go invade Greta's room, even if it used to be his. Most of his stuff has migrated in here over the past few days anyway.

Ryan curls up in the centre of the bed and closes his eyes. He didn't get much sleep last night. He squeezes his eyes shut tight just to have something to look at, the blue-yellow spots that float behind his eyelids drifting in and out of patterns and shapes.

He's in and out of sleep for a little while but each time just wakes up feeling more tired, and then eventually Darren pokes his head in and says, "Hey, did you want dinner?"

"Oh," Ryan says, sitting up. "I - yeah, okay. Okay." He nods, and looks around, and says, "There's still, we've got mattresses, right?"

"Yeah," Darren says, a little confused, maybe.

"I just remember, Sam was saying, he offered to - I can do it myself, I mean, but I should have my own bed at some point, probably."

"Oh," Darren says. "Right, okay. Yeah, it's just in storage upstairs. Someone can help you bring it down after dinner if you want."

"Yeah, thanks," Ryan says, and kicks his feet over the edge of the bed and curls his fingers up in the blanket for a minute, because it's soft and warm from him lying on it. He closes his eyes for a minute, and there are still strange shapes dancing back there before getting up and going to the kitchen.

Greta and Sam and Alex are at the table already, Sam telling Greta some story that has her laughing, and Alex occasionally chimes in to add some stupid detail. Dinner is rice again, and beans, and not much else.

Sam says, "Oh, by the way, all the clean dishes are on the drying rack right now. Not the shelf. Because somebody," and he looks at Darren, "didn't want to do dishes yesterday."

"It was so tragic," Greta says. "Me and Sam had to do all that washing up all by ourselves. That's not the kind of work you make innocents do, Darren."

Darren laughs, shaking his head a little. His fingers go around his still-bandaged wrist. "Shut the fuck up. Oh, hey, Jeff leave already?"

"Yeah," Alex says. "Hopefully we can actually have something good for breakfast."

"Sweet," Darren says. "Oh, man, I hope he finds something other than pinto beans. I've had enough fucking pinto beans."

Sam says, "Maybe we'll find some radishes. I could go for a radish right now."

"Out of basically anything in the world, what you pick is radishes?" Alex asks. "Seriously?"

"Don't underestimate the power." Sam crosses his arms. "They're good, man."

Ryan serves himself some beans and rice, and doesn't say anything, just eats standing a little way back from the table. He ends up finishing at around the same time as everyone else, because even though they got a head start he isn't interrupted by talking, not much, except when Greta scoots her chair over a little bit and kicks at the empty one next to her and says, "You want to sit? There's a chair."

"It's cool," Ryan says.

Alex laughs and says, "Jesus, dude, just sit down already."

Ryan says, "I'm done, though. It's okay." He goes to put his dish in the sink and rinse it out and says, "Sam, are you finished eating?"

"Yeah," Sam says, hesitant.

"I need you to help me with something."

"Okay."

Ryan is being immature, and he knows it, and right now he's giving himself the opportunity to sulk because it's been a terrible week and it's not like Alex owes him anything, that would be fucked up, but Ryan's allowed to be kind of pissed off, he thinks. He hopes. Frustrated, at least.

-

Alex walks in when Ryan's making up the bed. He didn't make Sam stay to help with that, so now he's climbing over the mattress from one side to the other, trying to get the sheets vaguely straight. He doesn't actually care a huge deal, but it's something to do. That's the trouble with this place; there's nothing really to fill the hours. They can't risk a TV connection and usually the computer is being used for important stuff. Ryan wishes he had thought to take that big pile of books he'd been meaning to read for years when he left, but he hadn't, so now he fills his time trying to make sure the bed sheets don't crease.

Ryan doesn't look up when Alex walks in, or when Alex says, "Hey," though he says something that could probably be taken as a greeting. After a moment, Alex kneels on the other side of the bed and pulls the sheets tight with Ryan, straightening it out and folding it under.

"What are you doing?" Alex says.

Ryan shrugs. "I thought I'd better give you your bed back."

"Right," Alex says. "Right." Ryan sneaks a look at him and Alex is wide-eyed and blinking, like not much makes sense. "I -- you know I didn't mind, right?" he says hesitantly, and Ryan stands up and goes to get the blanket from where he'd put it on a chair, throws it over the bed.

"Oh, okay," Ryan says, and Alex stands up, folds his arms.

"You're mad at me," he says. Ryan rolls his eyes and Alex makes a startled noise, shaking his head. "Jesus. I can't believe you sometimes."

"Yeah, well," Ryan says. He turns the light off and goes into the kitchen, starts on the dishes. He's not sure if it's his night, but he can't remember the last time he did them so it seems like a good thing to do.

Alex follows him. "Ryan," he says, tightly. "What the fuck, is this about before?"

"I don't really -- like, I'm not in the mood for talking.” Ryan looks down at the basin of the sink as it fills with water, soap bubbles rising faster than the rest. A few drift free and float off, and usually Ryan would pop them but he lets it go this time. "So, you know. If you didn't mind."

"Is this because I," Alex says, and then lets out a breath. Ryan sneaks a glance at him and Alex has his arms folded, back straight. "I didn't realise we were like, not acknowledging anything."

"Yeah, Alex," Ryan says, "I would have much preferred you kept it secret, and indulged me for the rest of the stay until you went crazy and -- and murdered me."

"What?" Alex looks confused, now. Ryan wishes he could stop looking. "I -- what are we talking about?"

"You're already a little bit crazy, you know," Ryan mumbles. It's cruel, but Alex goes quiet after that and then leaves, so Ryan supposes it's done the trick. He supposes he should be glad, now.

Eventually Greta comes in and sits up on the counter, kicking her feet a little as she watches Ryan scrub another plate clean. She keeps quiet, though.

"Hey, Greta," Ryan says, waving to her with a soap-covered hand. "What's up?"

"What, uh," Greta starts, then stops herself. "You could have had your bed back. I mean, you still can? I kind of thought."

"It's okay," Ryan says. "I mean, unless you really want to trade. We could do that. I just made the new one. Hospital corners on the sheets and everything."

"I haven't really changed my sheets since I got here, though," Greta says, making a face. "I don't know if we have time to do laundry tonight. Not for the sheets to dry at least. I guess that's a shitty trade."

Ryan lets out a breath and closes his eyes because he's thinking mostly about how Alex's sheets smell, and how comfortable and warm that blanket is, and how the mattress is just the right level of beaten up to be a bit like sleeping on a dream and how he had the pillows set up just right, and the now-familiar view of the ceiling from his side of the bed when he can't sleep. There's a picture of seagulls taped up over a crack in the ceiling, and Ryan likes to give them names and think about where those birds are now.

"It's okay, seriously," Ryan says.

"I just thought," Greta says, and for a while Ryan thinks she might not finish the sentence, but she goes on. "At first I thought I was really inconveniencing you, but Sam kept saying we had extra mattresses somewhere so I figured you must, I don't know, either have a good reason to be there, or just, like, prefer it." She pauses. "It being Alex's room, since I didn't specify."

"Yeah, well." Ryan shrugs a little and cleans down inside a cup. He wonders if they can find some awesome mugs somewhere, like the ones Z has. "Whatever. Maybe you shouldn't just assume things."

"I think you." This time Greta does stop. "Anyway, I guess it's not any of my business."

"Probably not," Ryan agrees, then catches himself. "Wow, sorry. I'm not usually this much of a jerk, you know?"

"Hmm."

"It's just been a really weird week," Ryan says quietly, looking down. He's almost done with the dishes, just a couple of mismatched forks and a spoon left to clean.

"It just seems like, I don't know," Greta says. "Like you should talk it out with him or something, right? He's already, I mean, he's better, I guess, but I don't think fighting with you is going to help him any."

Ryan holds back that's not my fault and well, he should have thought of that and just says, "I don't owe him anything."

"Maybe not." Greta hops down off the counter and paces a few steps away, arms crossed. "I'm not trying to say you do, but it's just, it's not fair."

Ryan starts laughing, because he had the stupid urge to say life's not fair which is about the most cliché thing he could have said, and instead he says, "I just wanted to help."

"Uh-huh?"

"That's all I was trying to do," Ryan says, and he's still kind of laughing, because it's ridiculous how hard he was trying. "And if he doesn't, if that's not. Then. He's known Darren and Sam and Jeff for pretty much forever, they can help. If he needs something. They're his friends too."

"Right," Greta says. "Right, it's just."

"They are."

"I know," she says. "Sorry."

"So," Ryan says. Greta won't stop looking at him, and her expression is very kind, and Ryan hates it. He wishes he'd kept being a jerk. Maybe then she would leave.

"I think it's different," she says. "With you, I mean."

"Okay," Ryan says. "Well, I don't -- whatever, anyway. He pretty much said he didn't want me around, so."

"Oh," Greta says. "Ryan. Really?"

Ryan lets out the water for the dishes, washes it spiral down the drain and picks out the little bit of rice that clog up the sink. He counts them in his palm. "Anyway," he says, "I'm pretty tired, so I'm just going to go to bed."

"Okay," Greta says. She waits for him to leave, which Ryan hates, a little bit, because it means that he has to go, can't waste time wandering around the kitchen.

He spies a book kicked into a corner in the hallway, and he picks it up and takes it with him. It's an old pulp science fiction novel, it looks pretty crappy, but he puts it carefully on his pillow and then goes and brushes his teeth, staring at himself in the mirror, and pulls on the old t-shirt he sleeps in with his boxers. He doesn't know whose t-shirt it was; not his, obviously, he didn't have anything when he came here. He'd suggested, just once, that they go back to his apartment and pick up some stuff and Alex had stretched his legs out over Ryan's lap and said, easily, "Or not. You want to go out dumpster diving with me for batteries? I found my old DS the other day, we can totally waste some power on it for a day or so before Sam finds out and tells us off."

It's probably Alex's t-shirt, Ryan thinks, plucking at his shoulder. It could have been anyone's, but Alex is closest to his size and it has "Space Center Houston" emblazoned across the front, so Ryan's pretty sure. He goes to bed and crawls in under the sheets and doesn't kick them around, even though they're tight enough that it's a little uncomfortable, being bound so closely to the bed. He reads the whole novel, and then lies on his back and wonders how to pronounce the main character's name.

-

The next morning Alex is in the kitchen with Darren making vegan pancakes. "Special treat," he says to Greta as Ryan walks in. "To celebrate having food again." He looks at Ryan, face blank, and says, "Hello."

"Morning," Ryan mumbles, and sinks into the closest chair. Nobody brings him coffee, but after about ten minutes Alex puts a pancake down in front of him. "Thank you," Ryan says, and Alex turn away like he doesn't want to hear it. After a moment, Ryan gets up and makes his own coffee.

Jeff wanders in, raking his hands through his hair. "There's been more raids," he says. "Overnight."

"Raids?" Greta looks up.

"Police breaking into people's houses," Jeff says. "No warrants, no reports, just at random, they find anything even vaguely -- indecorous, they take you away. There was a lot of it a decade ago, when things were getting really bad and people were complaining, just to keep everyone quiet, but it's faded away a bit, and. This isn't good."

A decade ago Ryan was thirteen and Alex was twenty. Ryan wonders if that was when Alex got started doing all of this, if he made a decision and left.

"Maybe we should get out there," Alex says. Ryan looks up.

"What?" Jeff sounds unsure, too, knocked off balance.

Alex flips a pancake. "Try and break in, maybe. Get ahead of them, for once. See if we can find anything that tells us what's up. You could check the databases, first, but we might have to be on site."

"Alex," Darren says. "You -- you sure that's a good idea?"

"Why?" Alex looks straight at him, but he's flicking Ryan little glances out of the corner of his eye. "Anyone not up to it?"

Darren flexes his wrist, rubbing at it with his other hand, and says, "Well." He spreads his fingers out, curls them up again. "I think I could manage."

Jeff says, "It's not really going to be that easy, you know."

"It's not supposed to be easy," Alex says. "I'm not expecting easy."

Ryan hasn't finished his pancake, and he's sitting still waiting for his coffee to finish. He doesn't look up. "I'll go."

"You'll what?" Alex laughs a little, sharp and startled.

"Wherever it is," Ryan says. Now he looks up, defiant. "Are we talking offices, a police station? What? I'll do it."

"For the love of ..." Alex trails off, shaking his head. Ryan can see him tense up and swallow, hard. "You know, you said it yourself, that you're not really that great at being useful."

Darren says, "Alex."

"Maybe I was wrong," Ryan says. "Let me do it, okay? I'm not as, as well known as any of you guys."

Alex lets out a long, slow breath and doesn't look at Ryan.

Jeff says, "He's right, though, Alex. It's way less likely he'll get recognized. I mean, especially since you've got, you know." He gestures at his hair, almost grinning but not quite.

Ryan says, "My dad used to - he was in the military, I still know some people. I might even be able to get it done before curfew, if I tried."

Jeff says, "Well, there is that office not that far from here, that recruiter. Their computers are all on a network, and it'd be easier to look for stuff on the LAN instead of digging around remotely and hoping you've got the right passwords and shit. They've probably got internal memos and all."

Alex says, "You don't know what they'll do to you."

"No," Ryan agrees. "I don't."

Alex is staring at him. Ryan looks at Darren and says, "Do you have false identities we can use? I mean, they know my name."

"That's right," Alex says, sounding triumphant. "You were on the broadcast just a couple of weeks ago. You'll be way too obvious, they'll pull you in right away--"

"I don't think any pictures were ever put out," Ryan says mildly.

"Doesn't mean they're not in police databases," Alex says. "You don't know them like we do."

"Maybe not," Ryan says. "But I bet if we go to the local office, there won't be anybody there who's actually looked at those photos. Imagine how many people like me there are per week. They couldn't look at all the photos. And my hair's longer now, too, and everybody looks kinda the same with sunglasses."

"This isn't a good idea," Alex says.

"It was yours," Ryan says.

Darren says, "We have ID we can give you, yeah."

"Cool.” Ryan stretches his arms out in front of him, fingers locked together. "I'll probably need a crash course in computers and stuff too."

"Yeah, I can show you the ropes," Jeff says. "It's not urgent, we can probably take a couple of days to work things out."

"I think we should try and work it out as fast as possible," Ryan says, tapping his fingers idly on the table. "Like -- I don't want to get lazy. I think the sooner the better."

"Right," Jeff says uncertainly. "Well, I mean. We can do that. You don't have to be able to analyze the data, just get it back here."

"Okay," Ryan says. "So maybe tomorrow, if we work on that stuff today."

Alex stands up, chair scraping back noisily. Ryan waits, but Alex doesn't say anything, just stands there with his arms hanging loosely by his sides.  
Ryan says, "So okay. I'll do that and see what we can get and." He doesn't have any plans beyond that, because this isn't his plan and he's not in charge, and he just says, "And you guys can figure out what to do with it, whatever we learn."  
Jeff says, "Yeah, maybe we'll be able to head them off or something. Did you just want to start when you're finished with breakfast, then?"  
"Yeah," Ryan says, and pushes his plate away, pancake half-eaten. "I'm not that hungry. Greta, hey, you want the rest?"

"Yeah, sure, thanks," she says, taking his plate eagerly. "These are really good."  
Jeff spends the next few hours showing Ryan around the software the government uses, and what settings he's going to have to tweak and where the directories they're most interested are located in the file structure, and a bunch of other things that it takes Ryan a few tries to even remember.  
They skip lunch to keep working, and for a while Darren comes and talks over a few other things with both of them, just in case.  
"My friend," Ryan says at one point. "This friend of mine, Jon, he delivers water to that building. Every morning, for their water coolers, right? Before anybody else even gets there. And he's, I mean. It'd be easy to get in I think."  
"Okay, see, that's a terrible idea," Darren says and laughs. "What guarantees he's not going to turn you in?"  
"We cooked taquitos in his backyard one weekend and wrote a whole album while really, really high," Ryan says. "Plus I'm pretty sure he and his friend Joe are still growing weed in a closet somewhere. He's not a big fan. I wouldn't tell him anything."  
Jeff says, "Well."  
Darren looks at Ryan for a while, considering. "How long have you known him?"  
"Maybe five years." Ryan keeps his head up, looking between them, looking them both in the eyes. "I trust him."  
"We should check with Alex," Jeff says, unconvinced.  
"Alex is never gonna agree," Darren says. "It could work, though. It's worth a try."  
Jeff rubs at his face. Eventually he sits back in his chair and says, "Yeah. You're right. I don't, I mean, I don't like it, but you're right. Okay."  
-  
Alex doesn't talk to him at dinner, but after he corners Ryan alone. "You don't have to do this. It doesn't prove anything, except maybe that you're an idiot."  
"Yeah, but we knew that.”  
"Christ." Alex shakes his head.  
"It was your plan," Ryan reminds him. "And I can probably still fit in better than anybody, except maybe Greta. How long's it been since you guys lived up there?"  
Alex just looks at him. Ryan can't figure out his expression.  
Ryan says, "I'll be okay." He thinks maybe he's doing this less to try and prove that he's useful, and more because he still wants to do everything he can to protect Alex even though that's not what Alex wants at all. He doesn't know what Alex would do if one of the others got captured, but Alex has known them a lot longer, and they really are a lot more useful, and Ryan wants to but doesn't say that _it'd be so much easier losing me than them_.  
-

He doesn't sleep a lot that night but he wakes up before dawn, like they planned, feeling alert and as awake as he's ever been. He supposes it's nerves, and gets up even though he doesn't really have to for another hour -- Jon doesn't get there in the mornings until seven, just before the main shift starts, and Ryan really only has to be ready to leave at six-thirty. It's five AM when he opens his eyes and is immediately awake, and nothing's going to change that, so he gets up and gets dressed.

Alex is the only one in the kitchen. His hair is tied back, ridiculously, pulled into a loose ponytail right at the end of his hair, so that a whole bunch of it still falls around his face. He's got a mug of black coffee in front of him and Ryan watches as he traces his finger in a circle on the tabletop, round and round, and then switching direction and going round and round again.

"Hey," Ryan says. Alex doesn't look up, shoulders tense. "Wow, okay, let's do this, this is great. If you don't talk to me, I respect the maturity of your argument all the more."

"You're being so stupid," Alex says. "This is so -- why are you doing this?"

"You said," Ryan says, stubbornly, "you said someone had to. Why shouldn't it be me? You want -- you want to throw Greta in, instead, or maybe you'll trot down again, like, a week and a half after they did -- after they--"

"It should be anyone.” Alex pauses a moment. He still won't look at Ryan. "Anyone but you."

Ryan sucks his breath in. That's not really fair, he thinks numbly, staring at the straight line of Alex's back. You don't get to be mean like that, it's not fair.

"Well," he says. "I'm going to do my best."

Alex laughs. "Sure. Of course you are."

Ryan wonders what they did to Alex, in there. He wonders if the same things would happen to him, if he gets caught. Probably not, he's not as wanted or dangerous as Alex is, but he half-wishes they would. It would almost be worth it, if he got the chance to work out what's going on in Alex's head, what's changed.

He goes to the cupboards instead, and there's a box of cereal so he eats some of that, dry. He's not very hungry, his stomach feels small and uncomfortable, but he thinks suddenly getting hungry on the job would be a lot worse than forcing down some food now, so. Alex doesn't look at him then, and he doesn't look at him when the others get up, and he doesn't look at him when Ryan gets his bag together and heads down the corridor for the door, Jeff following and chanting problems at him, Ryan trying to remember what solution goes with what.

They all stand by the door and say goodbye to him. Greta gives him a hug, fierce and warm, and says, "Come back safe, okay?" with this determined air that makes Ryan smile despite the fact he feels a little bit sick.

When he steps back, Sam and Darren hug him, and Jeff ruffles his hair and says, "If it crashes, reboot first and then get home as quick as you can -- and don't forget to plant that virus, that'll stop them from noticing their files have been messed with, hopefully--"

"Got it," Ryan says.

"Be careful." Alex’s voice is low enough that Ryan would have missed it if he hadn't been listening for Alex, hadn't been stupidly, uncontrollably conscious of every movement Alex made. He turns to Alex, and Alex says, " _Please_ be careful."

Ryan nods, jerkily, and then he leaves.

-

Ryan hops into the passenger seat of Jon's truck, and tips his hat - there was a spare smushed under some things in the back. "How's it going, Jon?"  
"What - Ryan?" Jon is probably staring. He tips his sunglasses up a little to look at Ryan from under them and says, "Holy shit, you're alive?"  
"Sure am," Ryan says. "You wanna get rolling? It'll look suspicious if you're late, and I need as much time as I can get anyway."  
"What's even going on?" Jon asks as he starts up the engine, pulling out from where he's parked. His truck chirps a chipper hello and tells him which way to turn. "What - just, what? You're not going to get me killed, right?"  
"Nah," Ryan says, trying to feign more confidence than he really has. "I just need to check some stuff on the computer at, you know. That office building on the 1600 block."  
"That's all government," Jon says, slowly. "Holy shit, Ryan."  
"I won't be any trouble. Just pretend you're training me or something if anyone asks. Here, look, check," Ryan says, raising a hand towards his eyes, and Jon taps at the side of his sunglasses and curses under his breath.  
"I always knew you were crazy," Jon says, shaking his head, then laughs. "Okay, Steve, sure. Let's do this. I can show you the ins and outs of the fine art of water delivery."  
Ryan's grateful that Jon doesn't ask questions, but Jon's good about that kind of thing anyway. He asks after Jon, and Cassie, and his old friends who he hasn't thought of much for months. Ryan sits back and closes his eyes and listens to Jon talk.  
Jon says, "Are we cool to stop at a drive through for breakfast? I do that some mornings. Like, I make enough money, I can buy you something too."  
"It should be okay," Ryan says, and hopes he's right, and nothing happens. He gets a sandwich with egg and cheese and sliced sausage and lots and lots of grease, and smelling it is enough to make him actually hungry so he eats it slow and savors it and ends up feeling stupidly guilty about it as soon as he's done.  
Jon keeps talking to him until he parks the truck in front of the building. Ryan helps him load the big five-gallon jugs onto a little trolley, and Jon says, "Wow, this is actually really helpful having someone else along."  
"Try not to get used to it," Ryan says, laughing a little. "You seriously have to do this every day?"  
"Yup," Jon agrees. "Every day. And we pick up the empties in the morning, too. Those are way easier, though."  
"Huh," Ryan says. Jon's job is really not that interesting. He knew that, but experiencing the tedium firsthand is different.  
They get in, and past security, without any trouble and Ryan actually helps out on the first couple stops then gestures to the side and Jon gives a tight-lipped smile and nods and they part ways. Ryan wonders if he's ever going to see Jon again.  
Most of the computers have been left on overnight, and Ryan picks one where the monitor is on, too, a screensaver of tropical fish casting a shifting glow across the wall in front of it.  
He plugs in the USB drive that Jeff gave him and runs the first file, the one that runs through the whole dictionary and more besides to brute-force a guess at the password. It's another two minutes to log in, the computer whirring awake slowly, and Ryan's heart is pounding, his fingers shaking a little. He's really not built to do this stuff.

He wishes this was one of those old spy movies, where he could have someone in his ear, talking him through stuff. Maybe Alex would stop being mad at him long enough to do it; would tell Ryan what to do, keeping him grounded, keeping him safe. As it is, Ryan's on his own, and having trouble keeping all the instructions Jeff gave him straight, so probably it's better not to think about Alex for a while.

He digs through the file system until he finds the right directories, and starts copying those files across, but it's not going to be as easy as that. He opens up the e-mail program and starts copying over everything in the inbox, too. The important one is the search database, the one that has the list of all the people the government wants or has under watch, and Ryan has to use a technical bit of code to copy the whole thing across that he's almost sure he's going to mess up. It's not a great feeling.

"Hey," someone says, and Ryan looks up, heart stuck in his throat. The guy standing in the door is wearing uniform, short blond hair smoothed back and heavy boots. There's a gun in his holster. "What are you doing?"

Ryan licks his teeth. His mouth is dry and tastes sharp and awful. He brushed his teeth not that long ago. "Getting an early start," he says.

"Huh," the officer says. He leans forward a little, says, "Isn't that Howard's computer?"

Ryan slumps a little, but tries to just sound bored. A lot of people have told him his voice is pretty tough to read, and he’s hoping that holds true despite his nerves. "No.”

"Eh," the officer says, and turns around, snagging the elbow of someone who passes. "Fucking HR guys," he says. "So fuckin' cold--"

Ryan breathes out. The last of the emails from this computer have copied. He opens up the database and sets it copying, then hesitates.

He doesn't have a lot of time.

 _Alex Greenwald_ , he types, and presses 'search'.

The government wants Alex for a lot of things, and has for a long time, nearly nine years. The list of offenses are thickest towards the early years and the present day - there's a few years where all that's listed is a _whereabouts unknown_ and a _do not kill_ order, no actual charges. This year and last, he's been implicated in a few robberies, and his name shows up in conjunction with someone named Elizabeth Berg a few times.

The older entries have less detail. Elizabeth is mentioned in the early ones, too, and the entries on Alex start out innocuous - contraband material, disposed of peacefully; noise complaint, resolved successfully; suspected of public intoxication, came back clean. Then little notes on _present at May 8th demonstration_ and _spoke at May 20th rally_ and _seen in public with Mark Ronson, June 3rd_.

The big one, in all caps, is vague - _OFFICER DISPATCHED TO 1822 W SUNSET BOULEVARD FOR PUBLIC DISTURBANCE. SUSPECT SEEN FLEEING THE SCENE; WHITE MALE, EARLY TWENTIES WEARING STRIPED SWEATER, BLACK CAP, AND BLUE PANTS._ After that it's just periodic mentions of Alex's reported whereabouts, and then, and Ryan will look at this later, something about _by any means necessary_.  
 _  
_So that's something, at least, and Ryan drags the whole folder about Alex onto the USB drive, too, even though that's going to waste both time and space. Maybe he can look at it again later. Maybe he can say - he's not sure what excuse he has for putting it there.

Ryan keep staring at the clock, because it's getting later and later and this is taking _so long_ , he just wants to leave. He doesn't want to be here. He wants this to be done and he wants to be home and curled up in bed with - with a book, maybe. A book would work instead.

Ryan's about ready to leave - he's cleaning up after himself, he's got the files he needs transferred and he's run the script Jeff told him to run to erase the computer's activity log for the past three hours and replace it with idle time, and a few other little things just to fuck with people's heads, and he's pretty sure he's remembered everything but he stays where he is, half-standing, waiting for the USB drive to successfully unmount or whatever, and then he gets a, "Hey, that's my computer, what the fuck?"

"Oh, is - sorry," Ryan says, quickly. "IT's still got mine, and I was just checking my e-mail really quick, you know. Those fucking guys take forever. How am I even supposed to do my job, you know?"

"Christ, I know," the guy says, shaking his head. "This one time, it took them a week to get me a new keyboard. A _week_."

"Man." Ryan shakes his head. "Anyway, hey. All yours. Sorry about that, man."

"Yeah, don't do it again," the guy says. "You know we just got those new terminals up on the fourth floor, right? The public ones? They're actually pretty sweet, but Chris, over in accounting, keeps setting this creepy Japanese porn as the wallpapers on 'em, so. Watch out for that, I guess."

"Thanks, Howard," Ryan says, pushing up his sunglasses. "I'll see you around."

"Later, Steve."

He actually makes it all the way to the door before anything actually goes wrong, then someone's saying, "Wait, who is that? That guy doesn't work here, does he?"

"Is he new?"

"Hey! Steve, hey, wait up, looks like your authorization’s busted or something. Just come on back and we can sort this out," the voice says, and Ryan breaks into a run because he's panicked and he doesn't know enough about himself, about _Steve_ , to keep up any kind of believable act, and maybe running's a worse idea than trying to talk his way out but it's too late now.

Ryan is a lot better at running than he ever used to be, at least.

There are people chasing after him almost immediately, and Ryan's kind of impressed despite himself at how quickly they react. Most of him is just concerned with getting the hell out of there, though, and the moment when he bursts out the main doors and into the early morning sunshine is one of the best in his life, breathing in the fresh air, away from the carefully regulated air conditioning inside.

It takes him a stupid second to realise that of course they're not going to stop chasing him just because he got outside, and he takes off again as the door bangs open, someone close enough behind him that Ryan actually feels their hand at his back before he jumps down the steps and moves. He runs blindly, charging down the pavement and weaving around other people as best he can, because he has no idea where he can go. If he runs home, he's just going to lead the whole police force down on the safehouse; Z's place is off-limits for the same reasons, and because Ryan doesn't think he could even find it from here.

The police are shouting behind him, and a passerby grabs his sleeve, tries to pull him in. Ryan reels around and punches the guy's face, almost by instinct, and it's not a very good punch but it surprises him and he lets go and Ryan takes off again. This time he turns into a more deserted street, which means it's going to be hider to lose his followers, but also that do-gooders aren't going to try and take him in.

He twists around another corner and he's in a park. Ryan plunges into the nearest bushes, and they scrape at his arms and face and knock his sunglasses off, but he scoops them up and worms his way deeper into the hedge and curls up there, still as he can. The police 'round the corner and start barking orders, and Ryan tries to pant quietly, resting his forehead against his knees. He wonders if they'll be able to hear his heart beating.

"Shit," he whispers, to his knees, but after a long moment the police move on. Ryan watches their feet in the tiny gap in the leaves, watches them run in different directions.

Ryan doesn't think he's going to come out anytime soon, and he wishes he could listen in on the police dispatch right now, if the call is out for Steve or they somehow figured out who he actually is. He doesn't think that's likely, not at all, and hopes he avoided cameras well enough. He had his hat on for a while when he went in, and took it off later, so that should help too.

There are sirens so Ryan stays hidden.

Hopefully there isn't a real Steve out there, somewhere, getting his apartment raided and his life ruined. Ryan never learned just how the fakes work, where they get their information from that it checks out with the databases, because there can't be two of the same person in the system at once - it's not coded that way - and dead people get taken off the list pretty quickly.

A long, long time goes by, so Ryan has a lot of time to think about things. He tries not to, mostly, and his thoughts get interrupted whenever he hears boots go by, which is too often for comfort but the periods slowly grow longer and longer between people, until, once, there is a three hour interval. It's nearly dark out. When Ryan got here, it wasn't even nine in the morning yet, and he's cold but still alive, which is what counts. He hopes he won't get sick.

Ryan waits another twenty minutes after that last cop leaves, then very carefully extracts himself from the tangle of leaves and branches, earning more scratches on the way out than he got going in, probably. At least, with the cold weather, there are no bugs to worry about.

Darkness means it's colder than before, and Ryan keeps his arms folded up and his head down as he walks, sunglasses back on. It's a few minutes until curfew, and he wonders if he should have waited until after, but he might not have been able to get out of the park.

He has to remind himself, though, that Steve is wanted now, even if he wanted to go inside somewhere. He couldn't get past a rudimentary check. Being out here is dangerous at all; he bets that anyone who looks at him can see the big red WANTED beneath the name.

The chase took him the wrong way and he is very, very far from home and this time he doesn't have a friend with a truck to ride along with so he walks the back alleys until he gets somewhere more familiar, and it's after curfew now and he thinks of just ditching the glasses entirely but he doesn't, not quite yet, because maybe they can be - reused or something. He doesn't want to drop them somewhere along the way, because maybe it'd be a clue, a hint, bring the cops down on them, and he doesn't want to do that.

When he finally gets home - he has to stop a few times and hide from patrols - it's nearly morning again and he hasn't slept in a long time but he's not particularly tired, and he's pretty sure everyone back home will be asleep again. He's been gone long enough that it's not worth waiting up on.

He slips inside very, very quietly, because most of the lights are already out, and leans back against the door with his eyes closed and just breathes and breathes and breathes.

His hands are shaking, and Ryan wonders if its because of the cold or because of how scared he was, is. He takes his sunglasses off and puts them on the little table by the door. He looks down at his hands and they're covered in dirt and scratches and Ryan makes a face and then walks very quietly down the hall and into the bathroom. He thinks maybe he should eat something, too, but he's not feeling particularly hungry so he doesn't go into the kitchen, just turns the shower on and pulls his shirt off. He brushes his teeth, too, because his mouth tastes bitter with adrenaline and then he remembers Alex brushing his teeth and stares at himself in the mirror for a moment before he rinses his mouth and checks that the water's heated up properly.

"Darren, are you heading out already--" The door swings open, and Alex stops talking. Ryan looks up, hands still on his belt.

"Not Darren," he says. "Sorry," and then Alex moves too fast for Ryan to work out what's going on before Alex is wrapped around him, fingers digging into Ryan's bare back, face pressed into Ryan's hair.

"Fuck," Alex says, shuddering. "Fuck, fuck." Ryan pats at his back awkwardly and Alex says, "Oh, God."

"Hey," Ryan says. "I, uh. What's going on?"

Alex pulls back enough to give him an incredulous look. "You were meant to be here, like -- twenty _hours_ ago."

"Yeah," Ryan says. "Sorry. I got the information though, it's cool."

"Shut up," Alex says, reeling Ryan back in, hiding his face against Ryan's hair. "Shut _up_ , oh my God."

"Okay," Ryan says. He goes quiet for a while, closing his eyes, breathing a little steadier. Then he says, "I should probably shut the water off, if -- I mean, it's a bit of a waste."

"Okay," Alex says, but doesn't let go of Ryan, and after a moment Ryan shuffles Alex over to the shower and reaches over his head to turn the water off. His arm gets spattered with warm water, and Ryan's kind of cold and really wishes he could go and get in there and warm up, but it's better with Alex holding onto him like this. Ryan doesn't really understand but he's not stupid, he'll take what he can get. Ryan raises a hand and pets blindly at Alex's hair, and then Alex has a hold of his wrist and is saying, "Holy shit, what happened to your hands?"

"Oh," Ryan says. "I scratched them up a bit, it's fine. It doesn't really hurt, just stings a bit."

"How?"

"I was hiding in some bushes," Ryan explains. "They worked out that I was fake coming out of there and then I had to run and hide and -- that's where I was all day, anyway, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I thought they got you or something," Alex says. "And they put out a wanted call but we didn't have any information saying you were, you were caught and I thought -- I thought they might be doing it underground, might not be alerting the others because they just, they just wanted you to disappear--"

"Hey, no," Ryan says. He blinks at the curve of Alex's shoulder and neck. He's kind of glad he didn't have Alex's imagination -- or broader knowledge of the workings of the police -- when Alex was caught. "No, it's cool, I just. You know. Sat in a bush for a day. It's fine."

It takes Ryan a second to figure out what Alex is even doing, until he realizes that Alex is picking leaves and bits of seed and twig from his hair. Alex isn't even looking, just blindly feeling through until he finds something and drops it on the counter by the sink. It's kind of weird. Plus, a hairbrush could do the work a lot more easily, or a shower, but Ryan decides it's better just not to say anything at all.

"It's just, you know." Alex breathes in deep, hand stilling for a moment. "You're alive."

"Yeah, I know," Ryan says. "I got a lot of - a lot of stuff. Is everybody asleep? Why aren't you asleep?"

Alex huffs out a laugh. He picks another little leaf out of Ryan’s hair. "Yeah, everybody's in bed. Greta only went a little bit ago. We hung out in the kitchen for a bit."

Ryan wonders what happened to their fight, but then, he wasn't doing anything for Alex this time, so maybe it doesn't count as annoying, or unappreciated, or whatever, that he was out so much longer than expected.

"We should get - let me get the first aid kit," Alex says, but he takes a while to actually move and seems reluctant when he finally does, getting out some cotton swabs and alcohol, and he says, "Okay, here, sit down."

Ryan sits down, legs crossed, and Alex follows suit directly across from him and takes one of his hands and says, "This is going to sting, okay?" and he supports Ryan's hand with his own while daubing gently at each and every cut with an alcohol-soaked ball of cotton. Their knees are knocked together, and if Ryan moved his foot just a little he could poke at Alex's, but he doesn't, because that seems weird.

Ryan winces at each touch at first, but then he gets used to it and just sits and waits and looks down at their hands. Alex is very intent, his eyes intense, and periodically he'll get a clean cotton ball because he's wiping away dirt, too, in the process.

"And we should probably put on some Neosporin," Alex says, like he's finishing a thought even though he hasn't said anything for a while. "And, and a few of these probably need bandages, just in case. You don't need an infection right now."

"I don't need an infection right ever," Ryan says. He wonders how long he's been awake. Almost, if not more than, 24 hours, probably, and he tries hard not to yawn. His eyelids are heavy. He wonders if he could maybe just sleep here, just lie down and used Alex's lap as a pillow and maybe a towel for a blanket.

"No," Alex agrees, and moves on to the other hand. He says, "Don't - don't do that again."

"At least it was just me," Ryan offers, consolingly, because - he doesn't see how Alex can be so surprised. Ryan is tired and defensive and he just wants to sleep. Alex is the one who kept saying he shouldn't go and that he was useless, that he didn't want Ryan helping, but Ryan did it, he came back and he has what they needed, and he says so, too, "And anyway, I got what you wanted. I did. Sometimes I'm useful, too, okay?"

Alex doesn't answer for a while, busying himself with Ryan's hands. Ryan wishes he hadn't taken his shirt off; he's shivering a little, and he feels too conscious of himself, his ribs standing out through his skin, his narrow chest. Brendon used to laugh at him sometimes, call him a little old man, and Ryan never minded then, but he feels young and strange, sitting in front of Alex like this. He wonders if it would be too weird if he stopped Alex to put on his shirt. Probably.

After a moment, Alex looks up at Ryan. He looks unhappy, mouth twisting down, and Ryan blinks at him.

"Yeah," Alex says. "Yeah, I -- you did good, but just. I wish you wouldn't."

Ryan's so tired. "I did my best," he says. "I know I was late and stuff but Jeff said it wasn't urgent anyway, it's not like we really needed it this -- yesterday afternoon. I mean. You can all look at the stuff now and I just. I need to sleep a bit."

Alex is frowning at him. "I'm not talking about the fucking information," he says, and Ryan rubs his eyes. Alex plucks a splinter out of Ryan's palm, a little harder than is necessary, and Ryan winces. Alex smoothes his thumb over the hurt without taking his eyes away from Ryan's face.

"I -- okay?" Ryan says. "Then I don't get why you're mad."

Alex stares. "I thought they caught you."

"Yeah, but," Ryan says. "I mean, they didn't. And if they did -- I wouldn't have -- I wouldn't give you guys up, or anything, you know."

"You wouldn't--" Alex makes a harsh, disbelieving sound. "You don't even know what they can do to you in there, Ryan."

He bends his head, wrapping gauze around Ryan's left palm, where he's scraped it along gravel, red and painful. Ryan doesn't remember falling. He watches Alex's careful movements, Alex's face hidden. Ryan doesn't know what Alex looks like just now, and he knows Alex is mad, but it still feels good to have all of Alex's attention on him like this, nobody else there to talk or make Alex laugh or interested. It's selfish, Ryan knows, but he's had a pretty awful day, he thinks he can indulge himself for a couple of minutes.

"I know that," Ryan says. He raises his free hand and touches Alex's head, very lightly, not sure if he's allowed. "I would have done my best, though, and anyway, you guys would have heard that I was arrested and been able to find somewhere else to stay, if worst came to worst."

"You're not listening to me," Alex says.

"You're angry, I get it," Ryan says. He's having trouble keeping his eyes open; only the sharp little stings as Alex cleans his hands are keeping him awake. "I just -- I don't, I'm sorry I was late and you thought I was in trouble or whatever, but I don't get why you're still so mad and. Alex. I'm really tired."

"I'm not mad," Alex says. "You fucking terrified me, you fucking prick."

"I what?" Ryan says, because he didn't do anything. His mind's working in slow motion, all sleep-addled. "I was hiding in a bush. That's not scary. Well, I was kind of nervous when the cops were around, but otherwise it was just me and the dirt and leaves. Unless you're scared of bushes, I guess."

"Fuck." Alex starts laughing, and he seems genuinely delighted, and Ryan's not quite sure what they're laughing at but he laughs, too, because it lets out the tension.

Ryan stares at him. Alex is a little fuzzy, and Ryan blinks a few times and opens his eyes wider so he can actually focus. "I did really good getting away, though."

"You did," Alex agrees. "I was still fucking terrified." When Ryan still doesn't get it, Alex adds, "I was _worried_ , Christ. Do you need me to translate it into Spanish for you?"

"I don't speak Spanish," Ryan says. "I'm sorry. You could try, though."

Alex shrugs. "I don't speak it either."

Ryan says, "You were, though? Why were you worried? It's not like, not like you were going to, not like it was Jeff. Jeff's really useful. Or Sam, Sam always knows where to find the good shit, food-wise, or if it was Darren, because he's --"

"Shut up."

"Okay," Ryan says. He's not sure what to do with himself, with his free hand, so he rubs a thumb along Alex's cheek and tries to memorize how that curve feels, the texture of skin there and the way his cheekbones feel right under the surface, and how right under Alex’s eyes the skin is dark and soft and puffy and makes him look so, so worn out. "Okay. If I, if I shut up, can we, can I go to bed?"

"Yeah." Alex has yet to let go of Ryan's hand.

Ryan thinks about getting up, to make Alex move, but he decides to just let himself fall forward and tries to take Alex down with him, because stretching out on the bathroom floor seems like a really great idea. It's a lot more convenient than a bed.

"You can go to bed," Alex says, "but not on the floor, dude, wow."

"But I'm comfortable."

"Now you are," Alex says. "But when you wake up you'll be all, 'oh, Alex, my neck hurts and I'm all sore and I wasn't in my right mind last night and you're a horrible friend,' and then you won't speak to me again, and I fucking hate it when you won't speak to me."

Ryan blinks at him. "You started it," he says, and Alex takes Ryan's other arm and slings it around his neck and staggers up to his feet, free arm around Ryan's waist.

"I did," he says, and bumps his forehead against Ryan's. It's a weird little gesture but it makes Ryan smile. "I'm sorry, I did, it was dumb, you make me dumb." Ryan doesn't know what that means, but he's busy thinking about bed, now, Alex steering him down the hall. Ryan can barely get his feet to move; he slumps heavily against Alex and closes his eyes, lets Alex half-drag him along, kicking open Alex's door and then depositing Ryan on his bed.

"Let me get your shoes," Alex says, and he bends down and takes them off, and Ryan's socks, too, and then he unbuckles Ryan's belt – Ryan never quite got it off – and takes Ryan's pants off, too. "Are you going to be warm enough?" Alex asks, and Ryan nods, head heavy.

"C'mon, then," Alex says, and he pulls Ryan up again and throws back the blankets and Ryan sinks into the bed and thinks it feels better than anything else in the world, and then Alex crawls in beside him and puts an arm around Ryan's waist and pulls Ryan back against him and Ryan revises his opinion. Alex strokes Ryan's hair back behind his ear, hovering over Ryan for a moment, staring at him, and Ryan wants to look back, he does, but he's tired. He closes his eyes. Alex says, very soft, "Goodnight."

"Night," Ryan mumbles.

He wakes up what feels like only an hour or so later when he hears voices.

"—back safe?" Darren is saying.

"Yeah," Alex says, near Ryan's ear. "Yeah, I mean – his hands are pretty beaten up and he's exhausted and, like – he was a bit shaky, I think he might have gotten too cold? Not hypothermia, but, like."

"Yeah," Darren says. "Is he alright now?"

"Warming up," Alex reports. "I think we should just let him sleep for a while. We can all have a look at the files later."

"Good plan." Darren hangs in the doorway a moment longer – Ryan can feel the light flooding in from the hallway against his eyelids – and then he says, oddly gentle, "Get some rest, Alex."

"Doing my best," Alex says, and then Ryan's pretty sure that Alex isn't going to leave so he goes back to sleep.

-

 

Ryan wakes up again, a long time later, feeling rested, and at first he startles, thinks maybe he fell asleep in the bushes but in the process he knocks his head against Alex's chin. That makes Alex jerk awake, too, with a, "What the fuck, is, what?"

"Sorry," Ryan says, awake enough for an apology. Alex has his hand pressed up against Ryan's stomach, and it's kind of a weird feeling when he takes a huge, just-waking breath and Alex's hand rises and falls with it. Alex's fingers are rough against the bare skin, and it almost tickles so Ryan makes a face and wriggles a little which makes it - not worse, since it's not bad. Just more.

"Morning," Alex says, eventually. "Try not to kill me in your sleep next time, please."

"Sorry, sorry. I said sorry," Ryan answers, pushing himself up on his elbow a little and rubbing at his eyes. He tries to figure out if Alex was just smelling his hair, but that doesn't make sense because probably it just smells like dirt right now. "Is, can there be breakfast?"

"There sure can," Alex says, but he seems reluctant to move, and Ryan doesn't blame him much because it's warm and comfortable and he's pretty sure they're not fighting anymore, probably.

Ryan puts his hand over Alex's, and Alex holds very, very still, and Ryan's first sleepy impulse is to pull Alex's hand up to his mouth, but that's stupid, that's not even something that makes any sense, and Ryan needs his morning coffee so he just moves Alex's hand away and rolls out from being pressed up so close together and gets up to put on the first shirt he can find because the room is cold without the blankets and body heat to share. Socks are his next priority, after that, and then he asks, again, "Is there breakfast?"

"There's always breakfast, what the hell," Alex says, not having moved at all yet except to let his hand fall to the mattress. “You already asked that.”

"I'm really hungry," Ryan decides, and says, "I'm going to go see what there is to eat. Is it morning? Maybe it's not, maybe it'll be lunchtime, but it's breakfast for me. I'm breaking my fast."

"Uh-huh," Alex laughs.

"It's," Ryan begins, and he's not sure what he's going to say, some kind of thank you, maybe, or reminding Alex not to ever worry about him, but instead he just says, "You should eat too."

"Mmph." Alex rolls onto his back and flings an arm over his eyes. "I'd have to get up."

"I got up." Ryan leans back across the bed to poke Alex in the side, repeatedly, until Alex rolls away and curls up on his side, laughing. “If I got up, you can get up.”

"Fine, fine, wow," Alex says, and when he sits up Ryan stops poking at him. "I need sleep too."

"You got sleep the other night, though, I was stuck in some bushes."

"I didn't," Alex tells him. "You were off being all missing and shit – and anyway, I didn't."

"What? You should have slept.” Ryan frowns a little before meandering his way out and into the kitchen, trailing his hand along the wall on the way there to remind himself that he is home and safe.

Darren is just putting his dishes in the sink, but Greta is still at the table eating, so Ryan taps Darren on the shoulder as they pass, and says, “Hey, ‘sup.”

“Sup?” Darren says in response, giving Ryan a quick, one-armed hug. “Good to have you back, man.”

“I’m happy to be here,” Ryan says. “Thank you. Thank you. I’ll be here all week. You can, you can get complimentary cocktails on the third floor lobby.”

Darren laughs and says, “Wow, Alex didn’t tell me you went crazy.”

“I’m just really hungry,” Ryan tells him, earnestly, eyes going wide. “There’s still food left, right?”

“There is,” Greta chimes in, finally.

“Okay, good,” Ryan says.

Darren says, “So hey, I’ll talk to you in a bit, okay? I have to go bring Jeff his coffee, the lazy jerk.”

“That’s chill,” Ryan nods. “I’ll see you.”

Greta takes the chance, when Darren leaves, to scramble to her feet and pull Ryan into a hug. “You’re back, you’re back. They told me you were back, but it’s so good to see you.”

“Hi,” Ryan says to her.

"Are you okay? You were gone so long, but I couldn't wait up anymore. Was Alex still up? We were all so scared."

"It wasn't - there wasn't anything to be scared about, I don't think," Ryan says, and then, shyly, "Do you think you could let go for a second so I can get some food?”

"Oh, yeah, of course," Greta says, uncovering the pan that's still sitting on the stove and serving up a bowl for Ryan, and it's black bean hash again this morning, which they don't make very often and Ryan still mostly just remembers from the very first morning he was here. "Me and Sam made it. I don't know where Sam went. He was done."

Ryan eats slowly, and eventually Alex comes in, too, puts on a new pot of coffee and then sits down across from him at the table. Ryan looks across at him, quiet because he's still chewing, then shrugs and looks back down.

Everything Ryan does, he has to be a little careful because bending a finger wrong can mean bothering a cut, and he gets a sharp little sting of pain if he curls his fingers too tight around his spoon. He figures he did okay, all things told.

Alex sticks his foot out, poking at Ryan's ankle. Ryan is pretty sure Alex is barefoot. He stares across the table, keeping his expression very straight-faced. "Morning, Alex."

Alex doesn't answer but for the tiniest little twitch of the corner of his mouth, which Ryan only barely catches, and Ryan nudges at his foot in return.

Greta looks between them, face worried. "Ryan, Ryan. Are you okay? Darren said you hurt your hands. How did you even - oh my god, that looks awful. I thought you were just going to get something off their computers."

"Oh, I was. I did," Ryan says. He picks at the bandage wrapped around the heel of his left hand, and wonders if it needs changing. "Then there were bushes. Shrubberies. Hedges. Whatever. There were branches and shit, and we didn't get along too well, except that they hid me okay."

"Oh, no," Greta says, but she laughs a little. "But you got back okay, you're safe. That's what counts. At least you didn't break anything, right?"

"Right."

Alex just clicks his tongue disapprovingly, shaking his head, and scrunches his toes up against the top of Ryan's foot. Ryan is really, really good at not having an expression, he has a lot of practice at it, but he still wants to laugh. Instead he just shoots Alex a look and then leans over a little, elbow on the table, to look at Greta.

Greta looks between them warily. "So are we going to - we should wait until you're done eating. I think Jeff's already using the computer, but he'd probably be okay taking a little break to look at what you got, I bet."

"I should hope so," Ryan says. "That stuff was hard to get."

Alex sits back in his chair, arms crossed, says, "Really, now?"

Greta looks at him. "Alex, what?"

"Not you," he says to her, and when she looks down he takes the chance to wink at Ryan before shaking his head. "We don't even know if you got what you were supposed to. Jeff actually has things to work on right now, so, you know, it would be nice to give him the chance to finish.”

Ryan decides this is the proper time for his last gambit, so he goes for the inside of Alex's knee, wiggling his toes, and Alex makes a face and then starts laughing, turning his face towards his shoulder as he tries not to. "Oh my god, stop that. You dick."

"What is even happening?" Greta asks. "Did I miss something?"

Her expression is so put-out and confused and vaguely worried that Ryan starts laughing, too, and she crosses her arms and scrunches up her face in disapproval. "What?"

"Nothing," Alex says. "Nothing, my apologies, Ryan Ross is a jerk."

Greta darts a glance between them, a little like she's worried that they're going to start fighting again. "I – what?"

"Sorry," Ryan says. "I'm doing my best to move on, but, you know."

"We all just have to be patient with him," Alex says, solemnly. "It's hard, you know."

"Being a jerk?" Greta asks.

"Yeah," Ryan says. "It's – you know, it's taxing."

Greta leans back against the counter. "You two are really fucking weird, I hope you know," she says, and Alex starts laughing again, leaning forward against the table and resting his head in his arms. Greta looks at both of them, slightly baffled but fond. "I'm going to go take a nap," she says. "Come get me if Jeff decides to go through those files."

"Why are you going to sleep?" Ryan asks. "The day is young."

"Maybe for you," Greta says. "You just got up. It's like, four o'clock in the afternoon, Ryan."

"No way." Ryan looks at Alex, wide-eyed. "No way it's four o'clock." Greta nods, and Ryan says, "Alex, c'mon, you believe it's four o'clock?"

Alex shrugs, giving him a confused look, but then he says, "I guess you got home pretty late. And we slept for a while."

"Yeah, but." Ryan shakes his head. "That's messing up my internal clock, man. I don't know if I can deal with it."

"I think you've dealt with worse," Alex says. Ryan grins, but Alex looks at him pretty seriously, and Ryan rests his cheek on his palm and lets his smile fade, watches Alex carefully. He nudges his toes at Alex's ankle again, but without the intention of making him laugh this time.

"Anyway, yeah," Greta says. "Wake me up. Eventually."

"Eventually," Ryan agrees.

She ruffles his hair on her way past. "I'm really glad you're okay, Ryan," she tells him, and Ryan smiles up at her.

Alex yawns and stretches back in his chair. "What do you feel like doing, then?" he asks.

"I don't know," Ryan says. "Why don't you want to get Jeff to look at the files now?"

Alex eats the last few spoons of his meal. "I don't not want him to," he says. "It's just. I'm kind of worn out."

"We just slept for ages," Ryan points out.

"Yeah." Alex stands up, takes his bowl to the sink. "I don't know. Yesterday – the last few days have been pretty full-on. I just don't really want to think about the police right now. If it's not an emergency, I just want to. You know, not do anything for an afternoon."

"Okay," Ryan says. He finishes his bowl and leans back in his chair, watches Alex carefully when he asks, "Who's Elizabeth?"

"Who?" Alex frowns.

"Elizabeth Berg," Ryan says.

"What?" Alex laughs. "You mean Z?"

"Oh," Ryan says. He looks down and grins, feeling stupidly relieved. "Is that Z's real name?"

"Yeah," Alex says. "You didn't know? Don't call her Elizabeth, she'll beat you up. Where'd you hear that, anyway?"

"I saw something, in those files," Ryan says unthinkingly. He feels kind of relieved, that it's not some other person he doesn't know, someone who spent so much time with Alex that Alex hasn't mentioned. "I didn't know who she was, but her name was with yours and stuff."

Alex raises his eyebrows. "My name?"

"Oh," Ryan says. He smiles sheepishly. "I looked you up. I wanted to – after the last – when you got caught, I wanted to see if they’d known anything about, like, if they knew how we broke you out. If they blamed anyone."

Alex looks at him, then comes and leans over Ryan's shoulder to pick up his empty bowl and wash it out in the sink. "You're a strange kid, Ross," he says, and Ryan stands up, comes to stand next to Alex. "Man. Looking me up. You weirdo."

"I wasn't snooping," Ryan tells him.

"I know," Alex says, very calmly.

"You ever worry they're going to find us?" Ryan asks. He leans against Alex's shoulder, and Alex reaches up to curl a hand lightly around the back of Ryan's neck. Ryan thinks about the first time Alex did that, when they were out looking for food. It feels just as reassuring, even though they're not in any real danger.

"Yeah," Alex says, rubbing his thumb over the knob at the top of Ryan's spine.

Ryan nods. He closes his eyes and slumps further against Alex's side. "What did you want to do today, if we're not going to, like, work or whatever?"

"I kind of want to build a fort," Alex says thoughtfully, and then blinks and laughs. "I mean."

"No!" Ryan says. He beams at Alex. "Let's do that!"

They make it out of the dining room chairs and the blankets from Alex's bed, arranging the chairs in a square and draping the blankets over the top. They pile pillows in the middle so it's comfortable to lie on, and then crawl in. The light is stained red.

Ryan fingers the edge of the blanket mournfully. "Now we have no blanket for us," he says.

"It's okay." Alex yawns, curling up slightly so that his feet won't stick out the edge.. "It's not that cold." Ryan wriggles in closer to him. "There," Alex says. "You see?"

"Yup," Ryan says. He examines his hands, holding them up. The white bandages aren't so clean anymore. "Should I change them, do you think?"

"I'll do it for you a bit later," Alex says. "After dinner, maybe."

"When's dinner?" Ryan's feeling kind of hungry again. Not really hungry, just like there's food in the kitchen and he wants to eat it, knows that he can eat it if he wants. He wonders if maybe they can scrounge up something to make dessert out of tonight. He bets Greta will know. Maybe she'll help.

"Not for a while," Alex says. He sighs. "Dinner's going to suck."

"Why?" Ryan's a little put out.

"Well," Alex says. He looks at Ryan and his mouth twitches. "They're probably going to want the kitchen chairs back."

"Fuck," Ryan says. "I didn't even think of that."

"Right?" Alex says. "Our creation's so fleeting."

"It's transient," Ryan says. "Like the seasons. Or life."

"Did you ever - you ever have Life cereal?" Alex asks. "I mean, I'm not big on cereal, but that stuff is the shit. They still have it, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ryan says. "It's okay."

"It's okay," Alex repeats, aghast. He curls a hand around Ryan's ankle and slips his thumb under the elastic band of his sock, pulling it up then letting it snap back. "It's only the best kind."

"It's just cereal."

"It's not just cereal," Alex says. "It's Life. C'mon. Just listen to the name. It's all we've got."

There's a voice from outside the fort, amused - "What the hell is this?"

"Sam!" Alex calls out. "Don't worry, we're safe here."

"Shh," Ryan whispers, loudly, which probably defeats the point. "Sam. Don't tell anyone. Don't tell anyone we're here. We're hiding."

"You're hiding?" Sam asks, laughing. "From what?"

"From loneliness!" Alex answers, grinning at Ryan, and Ryan adds, "And sadness."

"And bad weather," Alex says. He squeezes Ryan's ankle, and Ryan decides to see if there's room for him to curl up on his side with his head in Alex's lap. There is, mostly, as long as he keeps his legs drawn up close.

"And Monday mornings when you don't wanna get out of bed," Ryan says.

"Also," Alex says. He looks down at Ryan and scrunches up his face in a goofy grin, and Ryan shakes a little with laughter. "Also, from all the dishes in the sink."

"Mostly from you, though," Ryan says finally. He reaches up to play with the ends of Alex's hair, twirling some around his finger.

"Yeah, pretty much from you."

"Wow," Sam says. "That hurts, guys."

"You're tough, Sam, you can handle it," Alex says.

Then Darren - who even knows when he showed up, because Ryan never heard him - "Wow, what is going on in here?"

"Sam!" Alex hisses. "Sam, don't give us away!"

"I'm sworn to secrecy," Sam tells Darren, apologetically. "It's a top-secret mission."

"Oh, well, in that case," Darren says. "Since there's clearly nobody in there, I can take the chairs back, right?"

"Gee, I guess so," Sam says. "There's definitely not anyone under there, so it's probably okay."

"Sam!" Alex says. "You traitor!"

"The chairs are louder than chairs usually are," Darren says thoughtfully, and Ryan opens his mouth to shout something -- he's not quite sure what, yet, but it'll probably be brilliant -- and then someone yanks one of the chairs back and the whole structure collapses on top of them. Ryan scurries further into Alex's lap as best he can to avoid a chair that falls over with the blankets, grabbing at Alex's shirt, and he can't even see Alex's face, the blankets are all around them.

"Oh my god," Ryan says. "What now?"

"There seems to be a large lump in the middle of the blankets!" Darren announces gleefully. "Maybe we could stomp it flat!"

"I think we retreat with dignity," Alex says, and they crawl out from under the blankets, sticking their heads out and glaring at where Sam and Darren are holding onto each other's shoulders in an effort to keep themselves upright while laughing. "You guys have no appreciation for art," Alex tells them.

"Oh man," Darren says. "Sam! Did you know Alex and Ryan were in there? Wow. I thought it was just some talking chairs."

Ryan says, "We're still not going to do the dishes. I escaped from certain death, yesterday." Sam and Darren grin at him, and Alex puts an arm around his shoulders as they wriggle out from the mess and stand up.

"Jeff wants to know if you want to look at those files now," Darren says.

"Urm," Ryan says. "I thought we might wait a while."

"Yeah," Alex says. He stands up a little straighter. "We were going to take it easy today."

Darren shrugs. "I mean, we don't have to do anything about it, and probably it'll just be to start sorting some things, but we can have a look through, see if there's anything particularly important or urgent or whatever."

Ryan looks at Alex. Alex shrugs.

"I guess, okay," Ryan says.

Darren blinks, looking confused. "I mean," he says. "We don't have to, if you don't want to. We just thought you might be curious, too."

"Well," Alex says. "Ryan here already got the total creep thing out of the way, is all."

"Oh, yeah, I was invading all kinds of privacy," Ryan says.

Sam says, "So do you just want us to see if there's anything important, maybe tell you later?"

"Yeah, or tomorrow," Alex says, sounding relieved. "That'd be good, yeah. Me and Ryan can make dinner later, or whatever, in exchange, right?"

"Right, right," Darren says. "That would work out okay, sure."

Sam says, "Really?"

"Really," Alex says.

"Really really," Ryan says. There's a lot of information to go through, he knows, and he just hopes at least some of it is useful. The stuff on Alex is probably not especially useful, and he hopes he doesn't get called out on it. There was a subfolder full of pictures that Ryan didn't look at, though, and he's kind of hoping for a chance to get at the computer just to see what Alex looked like at twenty. He didn't want to risk it back at the office.

Worry keeps creeping in, too, that maybe he didn't find anything useful at all. It was all in the right places, with the right general file types for what Jeff said to look for, and it sure as hell took long enough to get. Still, the chance remains that Ryan's effort might have been wasted. Even if the information turns out to be fake, though, Ryan figures there is one good thing -- the fact that he and Alex aren't fighting anymore.

Darren does a sort of shrug. "Okay, well."

Sam grins, elbowing Darren in the side. "Maybe they need a little alone time. You know."

Darren grins right back at him. "You think that's what the fort was for?"

"Wow, shut the fuck up," Alex says, laughing a little. "That fort was pure, man."

-

They have mangos from somewhere - Darren and Greta apparently got them at some point while Ryan and Alex were asleep, though they didn't bother to tell anyone until right before dinner - so everyone gets a half, chopped open and scored into little cubes that come out easily when the peel is turned inside out.

"We should have sliced the mango and put it over rice," Greta says. "We still have all that coconut milk somewhere, right?"

"Yeah," Jeff says. "Why would you put rice with mangoes?"

"Rice and coconut milk and mangoes." Greta shakes her head as she corrects him. "Get it right."

"I swear I'll get it right next time," Jeff promises. "Don't worry."

"Well, food's ready anyway," Ryan says. "Should I - who gets first dibs? Wait, Greta does, because she's not a jerk."

"Hey!" Jeff says.

"You can be second," Ryan decides.

Alex laughs. "Are you and me last?"

"Mmhuh," Ryan says, and finishes doling out everyone's portion of food and passes out mango halves, before eventually getting to sit down and eat himself. No one's bothered to wait to start, not even Alex, who was next-to last, and Ryan kicks him in the shin but Alex just smiles at him and Ryan wasn't really annoyed in the first place.

Dinner is surprisingly acceptable. Ryan usually stays far, far away from the kitchen when actual, complicated food is involved - he's made a lot of toast and helped with things like carrot and celery sticks, but that doesn't count. He suspects the only reason it came out okay is because of the copious amounts of help that Alex provided.

A few minutes in, as Alex is telling Greta about a few other people they know who live in the general area, Ryan nudges Alex in the shoulder to get his attention about something, and Sam says, "Alright, Darren, you're doing my chores for a week."

"Oh, motherfucker, that's cheating," Darren says. "That doesn't count."

"It so does," Sam says. "You've got to be more technical if you're going to be trying to disqualify things willy-nilly. We need a rulebook or something."

"I'll get one printed up next week," Darren decides.

"What are you guys talking about?" Ryan blinks across at the two of them, confused. He doesn't even remember what he was going to tell Alex.

"They had this bet," Jeff says. "That I refused to get in on."

"What bet?" Greta asks. "No one told me about a bet."

"We'll let you in on it next time," Sam says. "We're keeping it a secret so I can win again."

Ryan shakes his head wonderingly. "What the hell?"

"They're jerks, Ryan," Alex tells him sadly. "Everyone here is a total jerk."

Ryan blinks at him. "All of us?"

"Well, except Greta," Alex says. "But yeah, you know, we pre-established me and you, and the rest have followed us down."

"Maybe you followed us," Darren says, "and we were just being sneakier about it."

"How could we follow you if you were being sneaky?" Ryan asks.

"Well, okay, maybe you couldn't," Darren says, grinning, and everybody cracks up, even Alex. Ryan folds his arms across his chest, glaring, and kicks Alex twice, but Alex just gasps out an apology and keeps laughing.

"I infiltrated a top secret government organization yesterday," Ryan points out.

"You broke into a local police office," Darren says. "But okay, point."

"Hey, yeah," Jeff says, looking up. "I started going through those files. You did a good job, Ryan, it's pretty – there's a lot of it, so I'm not going to have anything concrete just yet, but. I thought people might wanna see."

He stands up and goes to the counter, comes back with a heavy folder of paper and drops it on the table.

"Dude," Sam says. "You printed it out? How much fucking paper did that use?"

"These are special," Jeff tells him, grinning, and Sam flips open the front cover of the file. Ryan blinks. Darren's photo is staring up at them, blurry and half-smirking, caught from a security camera as Darren walked past.

"That's the best they've got of you," Jeff says, and Darren laughs in a surprised sort of way.

"Jesus," he says. "So much for passing under the radar."

Jeff shrugs. "These are buried pretty deep," he says. "They're not plastered everywhere, like Z is, or some of those guys who stayed with us a while ago. It's like – there aren't lots of alerts on us out there, but there are these. And there's this one, too."

He flicks through the sheaf of papers about Darren and comes to a thinner set, taking them out and putting them on the table. Ryan stares. It's a photo of him, the one he took during that first semester of college before he dropped out. His hair is still cut in that mohawky thing he had going for a while.

"That's new," Jeff says. "They put it up today."

Greta laughs a little. “Nice hair, Ross.”

SUSPECTED OF ESPIONAGE, Ryan reads at the top of the neat little list of crimes. He says, "Uh. Wow."

"Jesus," Alex says. He leans in over Ryan's shoulder, staring. "Fuck. This isn't good."

"It doesn't mean anything except that they want him officially now, really," Jeff says. "I'm guessing there was already a call out on him – they might have suspected he had something to do with the breakout, when that happened, and I mean, we heard the announcement that they wanted him here. But this was marked for statewide distribution, so. It's worth knowing about."

"I guess," Alex says grudgingly.

Jeff closes the folder. "Anyway, we're all in there now," he says. "Even you, Greta, which is unusual, considering the warrant for you was because of a party. I guess they think you might be higher up in rebel stuff, considering that there was the jail breakout."

"Right, yeah," Greta says. She looks a little shaken, but after a moment she smiles and shakes her head, says, "C'mon, do the dishes with me."

They wander off to different places, and Ryan plays Monopoly with Alex and Darren and Sam. He's only half-involved; mostly he watches Sam get more and more frustrated as Alex refuses to play properly. ("I'm anti-capitalism," Alex says earnestly, though his eyes are bright with mischief. "Oh hey, Darren, you're missing Pall Mall! Hey, I've got it, here you go. Nah, don't worry about rent, Ryan, you can bake me some cupcakes or something.")

After a while Ryan goes back into the kitchen. The file's still on the table and he picks it up, leafs through the whole thing, reading everybody's. It's not really an invasion of privacy, he thinks, and that's not a justification; there are just bare details, accusations of crimes that might or might not be true. Ryan wonders which really happened and what the stories were behind whichever incidents were real, how exaggerated the accusations were. Seeing his friends decontextualized and reduced to lists of crimes disorients Ryan a little. He frowns at the papers.

He picks up a pen and adds at the bottom of Sam's: TAKES MONOPOLY VERY SERIOUSLY.

The photo of Alex is an old one. Alex's hair is much shorter, curling around his ears, not quite reaching his shoulders, and his head is thrown back, mid-laugh. He looks good, but Ryan always thinks Alex looks good. He sits quietly and stares.

"Where'd you go?" Alex asks, and Ryan looks up. Alex looks at the sheaf of paper in his hands and says, "Oh, I. You're okay, right?"

"Yes," Ryan says. He smiles at Alex hesitantly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's kind of scary," Alex says.

"I'm a big boy," Ryan tells him. Alex tilts his head to the side, watching him, and Ryan says, "You had short hair."

"A short and tragic period," Alex says, but he touches the end of his hair self-consciously.

"It must have been harder to braid."

Alex grins. "I don't think I've ever tried, actually."

"That's tragic," Ryan says. "You should do it."

"I don't know how," Alex says. "You could do it."

"I don't know how, either," Ryan says regretfully. He wants to, though, god. It's kind of stupid how much he wants to. "I bet Greta knows, though."

-

Greta is good for conspiracies, and no one else ever suspects her of keeping secrets even though she can be just as ridiculous and underhanded as the rest of them. She lets Ryan practice on her, too, which puts here even higher up on his mental ladder of people he really likes.

After a couple of mostly-successful attempts, she tells him, "You are ready to face the true challenge, grasshopper."

Ryan stands and bows. "Thank you, sensei."

"Don't forget these, though," Greta says, and hands him pretty much the most important part of this whole plan, something she found out on a food run with Sam a few days ago.

There are a lot more important things that Ryan could be doing right now - for the past few days, Alex has been poring over the files like a thing possessed, unable to look away. Sometimes Ryan helps, seeing if any of the names are ones he recognizes, or if he knows any of the government officials involved from when his dad was still military. Mostly, though, Ryan keeps entertaining himself by looking through the photos, because there are a lot more of Alex than anyone else since Ryan pulled his full detailed record instead of the brief overview there is on everyone else. Some of the protest pictures from when Alex was in college are hilarious, and Ryan taunts him mercilessly about the short spiky hair and the vest with all the pockets whenever he gets the chance.

Right now, though, he lets that slide, and sneaks up behind Alex. Alex is looking over something Jeff printed off, his expression set heavy and serious, and he doesn't notice Ryan until Ryan shoves a mandolin into his hands and sits down behind him on the sofa.

Alex strums a dramatic chord, and Ryan puts his hands in Alex's hair, which prompts some out-of-tune fingerpicking.

"Hi," Ryan says. He combs Alex's hair out with his fingers, and Alex leans back into the touch with a content little sigh, until Ryan starts separating his hair out into sections. He leaves some free around Alex's face, though, hanging loose, because he thinks that will look better, probably.

Alex laughs a little, asking, "What are you doing?"

"Just wait and see," Ryan says, cheerfully, tying the frayed green ribbon Greta gave him around one section, and a string of fake pearls around one of the others. He wishes he had anything more to put in, but it's already sort of complicated, and the beginning takes way too much focus. Ryan leans in closer, frowning a little in concentration as he works.

"Seriously," Alex says. He's keeping still, at least, and patient, just strumming lazy chords and occasionally trying to tune the instrument. It falls back out of tune almost as soon as he does, though, every time. "Do I want to know?"

"No," Ryan says. He tries to keep the braid fairly loose, because Greta warned him that it can kind of hurt a little having it too tight. Ryan has no choice but to believe her. "Not yet."

"Oh, well in that case," Alex says.

"It's gonna look way, way better than that ridiculous haircut you had during your freshman year of college, though," Ryan tells him. He's getting into a zone, weaving the sections together, and it's soothing to be this close. "Trust me."

Alex strums the same chord in a quick rhythm, amusing himself with how it changes just a little bit each time, sliding further into discordance. "You know, usually I do? But now I'm kind of scared."

"Usually you do what?"

"Trust you," Alex says, easily, and Ryan smiles to himself, feeling very calm and content. Finishing the braid is easier than the start, and Ryan already kind of misses the repetitive motion. "I'm just not sure I trust your sartorial decisions. Also, I'm pretty sure anything would be better than that haircut, so that doesn't comfort me."

"It should, though," Ryan says, twisting around and leaning so that he can arrange Alex's bangs a little more artfully. "There."

"Hell-o-oh my god," Sam says, having just walked in, and Ryan looks up and grins at him, shaking his head a little. "I wish I had a camera. Good morning, Princess Greenwald. I don't care that it's not even lunch yet, I win for today."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ryan asks.

"Nothing," Sam says, and runs off, saying, "Darren! Darren, fuck you, you just got schooled, bitch!" and Darren shouts back a "Shut the fuck up, what now?"

Alex says, "I think they've all finally gone crazy."

"Probably," Ryan agrees.

-

Ryan wakes up the next morning in the warm patch Alex has left but without Alex, which is sort of unusual these days. They tend to drift awake at the same time, or at least wait until the other one wakes up before they get up, or if Ryan's bored he'll just poke Alex awake. Now, he sits up and blinks, scuffing a hand through his hair, feeling vaguely unbalanced.

He gets up and dressed and wanders out into the kitchen. Alex is eating toast and listening to Jeff, who's talking slowly and easily and probably not urgently in the slightest, Ryan doesn't know why the fuck Alex felt the need to go and disturb the morning routine. He scowls at Alex on his way to the coffee maker and the corner of Alex's mouth twitches. He waggles his fingers in a little wave without looking away from Jeff.

"It's a pretty basic job, anyway," Jeff says, and Ryan goes still at the counter, curling his fingers around the edge. "Get up, meet the guy, give him the list and get the stuff, then head back. He doesn't want to be out before curfew anyway, so as long as we avoid the patrols I think it should be fine."

"Yeah," Alex agrees. "It seems pretty straightforward."

"Right," Jeff says. "So—"

"You're not doing it," Ryan says, turning around and looking at Alex. Alex looks up at him, expression careful, like he's been expecting this.

"Um," Jeff says, looking faintly uncomfortable.

"Really," Ryan says. He puts his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking, and he knows he looks ridiculous now and also way, way too obvious, but he can't really bring himself to care.

"I haven't been outside in a while, is all," Alex says softly. "And it's probably my turn."

"I'll do it," Ryan says.

"You just had your turn, pretty much."

"I don't care," Ryan says immediately. "I loved it. Please let me have your turn, Alex, it would mean a lot."

"Uh, I'm going to leave you guys to it," Jeff says, and sidles out of the room. Alex stands up, too, and folds his arms.

"Nuh-uh," he says.

"I can do it," Ryan insists. "And you saw, last time, I wasn't, wasn't useless, so—"

"Jesus Christ, Ryan, I never said you were," Alex snaps.

"You did," Ryan says.

Alex looks confused for a moment, and then he nods a little to himself and glares harder at Ryan. "What the fuck, yes," he says, "but because I didn't want you to go, moron, that was pretty obvious."

"Oh." Despite himself, Ryan feels a little better. "Really?"

"Yes." Alex gives him an exasperated look. "What kind of an asshole do you think I am?"

"I don't think you're an asshole," Ryan tells him. "You're not doing the job."

"It's really fucking easy," Alex says. "It's – meeting a guy, giving him a list of people who probably need warning, and picking up a parcel of information and then going home. Seriously. One guy. Two folders. We trade and get out. It's not going to attract any attention or whatever. Maybe I want to go outside, you think of that?"

"Okay, let's go outside, then," Ryan says. "Let's not do it to meet some other guy from the underground who we don't know while the cops are still out looking for you—"

"You don't know that," Alex says. "Anyway, if they're looking for me, they're probably looking for you."

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Yeah, with exactly the same kind of effort, I'm sure."

"You were out there more recently," Alex says.

"I don't care." Ryan points his chin up defiantly. The only good thing about this, he thinks, is that he's pretty sure they're not fighting properly, not meanly, not like last time when it was a dull ache in Ryan's head, his stomach. Alex's eyes are bright and worried and he's drawing closer to Ryan the whole time, edging around the table like he doesn't even notice he's doing it. "I'm still more – under the radar than you."

"Ryan," Alex says. "I'm – no. You're not going."

“Am too.”

Alex says, "Why are you arguing this? You didn’t flip out over Darren going out again."

"Because," Ryan says. "Because."

"Oh, okay," Alex says. "Well, with that kind of logic."

Ryan says, softly, and trying to play it off nonchalant, "I might have been kind of scared, or whatever, you know."

Alex seems sort of surprised to find himself standing so close, because there are only a few feet between them now, and he shakes his head a little like he's trying to clear it. "I'm gonna have to get back out there eventually, man. I might as well do it now."

"You could wait, though," Ryan says.

"How long am I supposed to wait until you give me permission, Ross?"

Ryan flexes his fingers in his pockets, just for something to do, and straightens up to pace a few steps away so that he won't just put his arms around Alex and lean against him and forget to say anything, which is always a possibility. "What if," Ryan eventually says. "What if I go with you?"

"Okay, well, that's dumb," Alex says. "So no, but thank you."

"How is that dumb? That's not dumb."

"Two people draw more attention than one."

"Or less, because you don't look like a creep skulking around if you have someone else with you."

"No," Alex agrees. "Then you look like two creeps skulking around."

Ryan just frowns at him, still disapproving.

"Oh my god," Alex says. "Seriously? Look, no, wait, I have an idea, and this is fucking awesome, believe me. Let's put some motherfucking ribbons in my hair, so it looks all like Christmas up in here, and then I can go confuse the hell out of the guy."

Ryan laughs, just a little, and says, "That's a terrible idea, dude."

"It's not as terrible idea as both of us going."

"I'm coming with you.” Ryan pulls his hands out of his pockets just to cross them over his chest, smirking at Alex. "And doing your hair. You brought that on yourself."

"Motherfucker," Alex says, but that is not much in the way of an argument, and Ryan thinks he just likes the attention. Plus, Jeff found an old Polaroid camera the other day, and they have a big enough stash of film that Ryan doesn't feel too guilty taking random pictures of Alex (hair done all ridiculous and hilarious or otherwise) and tacking them up all over the place.

It takes them a bit too long to get ready, because hair braiding at some point devolves into a jam session with the mandolin and a bongo drum, and then Ryan insists on taking about a million pictures of Alex (three, really), before making Greta take a picture of both of them - "for posterity," he tells her, seriously. "If we don't come back you need something to remember us by."

"Of course," she says, solemnly. Ryan and Alex both sit very prim and proper for the picture, hands folded in their laps, but Alex pulls a ridiculous face and Ryan makes Greta take it again and this time they both make stupid faces and then they can't put it off a whole lot longer.

"Yeah, though," Alex says. "We actually do have to get going eventually, because I don't think this guy'll wait around all night. Jeff says he seems kinda nervous, not that I blame him."

"Okay," Ryan says, serious again, pulling on a heavy black sweater. Alex, for his part, insists on a poncho. Ryan only okays it because it's black and brown and has llamas, and he thinks llamas are pretty cool.

It's less cold outside than it was last time Ryan went out, which he's grateful for, and he sticks close to Alex's side. They don't have very far to go, meeting the guy in a weird little shed behind the parking lot of a shut down McDonald's.

The guy standing there has curly short hair and an anxious expression; he's bouncing from foot to foot, too, like he's trying to keep warm even though it really isn't that cold, and when he sees Alex and Ryan approaching him he startles and makes an unhappy face. Ryan doesn't really get why. He supposes they're a bit late, but Alex has pink ribbons in his hair. That would have cheered Ryan up, if Ryan hadn't already known him. It does cheer Ryan up, actually.

"Greenwald," the guy says, low, when they reach him, and Alex nods.

"Hey," he says, easily. "Thanks for coming out."

"Yeah," the guy says, darting a look around, even though Alex and Ryan are the ones standing with their backs to the door. Ryan turns slightly, smothering his smile against Alex's shoulder. He wonders if this is what might have happened to him, if Alex hadn't found him, if he moved on to some other safehouse. Possibly this guy won't ever get caught, Ryan supposes. It still looks like a pretty terrifying way to live.

"Anyway," the guy says, "the information's all in the files. There's rumours about them heading down in a couple of months, but that's if they move really fast. It's just the railways there. Have you got the -"

“Yup,” Alex says. “This is the watch list as of – what was it?”

Ryan cocks his head, thinking. “Two days ago. Monday. See if there’s any names you know, I guess, and let ‘em know they’re wanted.”

Alex hands over their folder. “Enjoy.”

The guy nods, taking a half step back when he does. He holds the folder close to his chest. “Thank you.”

"Cheers," Alex says, tucking the brown paper package in his coat. He tilts his head and smiles kindly at the guy. "Are you okay to get home?"

"Yeah," the guy says. He claps Alex on the shoulder, nods at Ryan, and then leaves, scurrying out the door and into the shadows.

Ryan looks at Alex and grins. Alex laughs, shaking his head. "Poor dude," he says.

"Yeahhh," Ryan says, drawling out the word. "I felt very sorry for him. Would you really have taken him back home?"

"I wasn't sure if he was nervous just 'cos he's like that or genuinely scared," Alex says, and they start walking again. "But I think he was okay."

"A little weird," Ryan says, and Alex gives him a pointed look. Ryan laughs. "What's in the parcel, anyway?"

"Information about the underground railway and stuff," Alex says. "Like he said, there's rumors about people passing through sometime soon -- they probably won't stay with us unless the bigger, more active safehouses run out of room again, like last time, but it's important to know which direction everyone's coming and going in. Wait and see, Sam'll have these tacked up on the walls and quizzing us all about them for weeks now."

Ryan makes a face and Alex laughs again. "Come on," he says. "Let's go see if we can find something cool to eat while we're out here."

-

"See," Alex says, when they get home, shoving Ryan in the shoulder. "See? Look at that. And we got mangoes."

"Greta knows how to cut these properly, right?" Ryan says. He has the tote bag full of fruit slung over his shoulder. There were more than the ones they got, but they picked through for ones that weren't too soft, not that either of them was quite sure how to pick a good mango. "She did it last time. Don't they have seeds or something?"

"Yeah," Alex says. "Pretty big ones. She probably still knows what to do.”

"Probably." Ryan makes a face.

"Nothing happened, though," Alex says. "Is the point."

"Yeah," Ryan says. "Since I was there, too."

"That doesn't even make sense," Alex says, laughing a little. "You just wanted to hold onto your title of biggest jerk, didn't you?"

"Don't want to lose the title," Ryan agrees. "I'm still waiting on the trophy, by the way."

"Who said you're getting a trophy?"

Ryan says, "I did. I'd better get a trophy, man." He leans back against the wall, turning his head a little and shifting so that the heavy rubber cabling that connects the bare lightbulbs doesn't dig into the back of his head. The lights are dimmed for evening, and flicker as always. They should turn the lights off soon, but that can wait until they're actually inside. "Don't want all my hard work to be for naught."

"You can't be a jerk just for the trophies," Alex says, standing slouched in front of Ryan, hands shoved in his pockets with his thumbs through his belt loops. He's a little twitchy with nervous, excited energy, and keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot. "You've got to have your heart and soul in it."

"That's what she said."

"That doesn't even," Alex says, laughing, and leans forward so he can muffle his laugh against Ryan's neck, his breath warm and damp. He keeps his balance with a hand on the wall, just to the left of Ryan’s head. He draws back quick, though, nearly jumping a few feet away. "C'mon, okay, hey. We should. Go inside for real."

Ryan feels suddenly claustrophobic. "I - yeah, okay."

Alex stands there for a moment longer anyway, and Ryan can feel the brick wall up against his back, is conscious of the tilt of his hips and the way Alex is looking at him. Then Alex turns and opens the little door and Ryan breathes out, feels oddly disappointed and on edge. He follows Alex a little closer than usual, bumping up against his back. Alex reaches behind him and curls his fingers around Ryan's wrist, squeezes for a minute before he drops it and turns his attention to climbing down the manhole into the cellar.

Their return is generally celebrated, especially when they bring out the mangoes. Greta actually does victory arms, tossing her hair back and beaming.

"I'm going to do the coconut rice thing this time, you'll see," she says. "And then you'll all cry for never having had it before, and admit that I am totally your queen in all things awesome, and it'll be great."

"How'd it go?" Sam asks, and Alex gives him a thumbs-up and hands over the parcel. Sam cuts the tape open with a bread knife and they gather around when he rips open the covering paper and unfolds the paper lying on top.

It's a map of the city, the largest and most detailed Ryan's ever seen. He doesn't actually think he's seen a map of the town since high school; there's no real need for them, when you're living legally with sunglasses that have GPS systems built in. There's something faintly transfixing about it, the way he suddenly feels a lot more in control than even the government, and when he looks up Greta's staring at it in the same sort of way.

"Huh," Ryan says.

"I really hope we don't get another bunch of fugitives," Alex says, biting into an apple. "The leader of that last group was a jerk."

Greta looks up at Ryan and winks, and Ryan smiles back, not entirely sure why, glad all the same. He touches the map's corner, just lightly, and keeps smiling.

Ryan keeps going back to the map, after that, once Sam pins it up to the kitchen wall. "I used to live here," he tells Greta, pointing at an intersection, and she looks at it and nods and then stands there a while staring at the rest of the map.

"I lived over here," she says, finally. "It was a nice one bedroom apartment. The rent was too high, but I liked it."

"My place was pretty cheap," Ryan says, and pauses. "By pretty cheap, I mean I was living off federal funding, so, you know. The landlord kind of sucked."

"My landlord came and killed a spider for me once," Greta says. "Not that I'm scared of spiders, usually, but it was a black widow, so I figured I wouldn't mess with it."

"Yeah," Ryan says, and thinks of his landlord and his neighbors and the Mexican joint a few blocks away and their fish tacos. If it weren't for the fish, he'd want one of those right now, and he kind of does anyway, but he's gotten pretty used to being mostly vegan and doesn't know how his body would even take it if he tried eating meat again. Sometimes they'll cheat, if they find something boxed or canned that happens to involve a little dairy or egg, because it's not good to be too picky, but they try. "I made Alex kill a spider once."

"Just to watch it die?" Greta asks, amused.

"I didn't want to get up," Ryan says, shrugging. "And it was, like, staring at me. Alex threw a book at it. Actually, it might still be alive, I don't know."

"It probably is," Greta says. "Plotting its eight-legged revenge against its tormentors."

-

Later, Sam says to Ryan, "You know, I'm really glad you're here?" and his voice lifts up at the end, like a question, like he's not quite sure.

"Uh," Ryan says. "Thanks? You too?"

"It's just, like," Sam says, and pauses. "Our last safehouse got raided, maybe three years ago now, and Alex was kind of weird after. He had to break his guitar over some guy's head. He went to New York for a year or so after that happened, then he came back here, but it was still kind of weird."

"Oh," Ryan says, and wonders how it is he never knew Alex lived in New York so recently. He thinks maybe he's heard Alex mention the city a few times, but he never pieced it together. "Yeah?"

"It's just, you know, it's been cool having you around," Sam says, and shrugs. He seems kind of uneasy and awkward. "I guess I'm just trying to say, I don't know, Alex seems pretty happy to have you around, so. That's good."

"Oh," Ryan says again. "Thanks, yeah. Okay. Thank you. I mean, I wouldn't even be here, if it wasn't for him and you guys. I'd be rotting in prison, or back in my apartment being terrified all the time, or whatever. I don't know. Or maybe - I don't know where I would be. But being here is, you know. It's cool."

Sam smiles then, still sort of uncomfortable but real. "Yeah," he says. "Well, I'm glad. I'm glad that it all -- turned out like this or whatever."

Ryan says, softly, "It worked out good."

Sam nods and turns around, wanders off, and Ryan sits down at the kitchen table. Alex has left his mandolin there and Ryan starts tuning it absently, even though it'll be completely discordant again in a couple of minutes. He wonders if this is just going to be his life from now on, sparks of danger, too many people living in a too small house, never having a bed all to himself again, showers that run out of hot water after three minutes. He runs through the scale he only just remembers, stumbling over a few notes, and grins down at the tabletop. Probably, he thinks, he would be okay with that. It'd be nice if there could be a bit more daylight, but as it is, Ryan is pretty good. He doesn't want to go anywhere, and Alex has stopped asking.

Ryan makes dinner that night and doesn't burn anything.

-

Ryan's humming a song under his breath, and Alex looks at him kind of surprised but grins and sings along for a line or two, I want a puzzle I don't have to beat, a watch I don't have to wind. Ryan finishes his current cut and then sets the knife down, pausing. The potatoes can wait to be diced. He's not sure he knew there were words.

"What's that song, anyway?" he asks. “I never knew the words, I don’t think.”

"Oh," Alex says, startled again, but pleased, "Oh, yeah, that's one of mine."

"Huh." Ryan looks at Alex and tries to decide if that's true or not, but he doesn't know why Alex would lie. It just feels like he's known the melody a lot longer than that, but - maybe not. He isn't sure where he picked it up, except there have been times when he's been on the edge of sleep but not quite able to get there when what's pushed him over the edge has been Alex singing, soft and low. Ryan remembers it from there, that not-quite-awake place. "Like, you wrote it?"

"Yeah."

"I like it," Ryan says, and picks up the knife again.

"You want me to show you how to play it sometime?"

"On the mandolin we can't keep in tune?"

"Sure," Alex says, easily. "Or if - when we get a guitar. When. That's not an if. We'll find one someplace."

"Yeah," Ryan agrees. "We will."

-

One morning, Z and Laena arrive with two girls Ryan doesn't know, who are introduced as Annie and Tennessee. Tennessee has a British accent, which knocks Ryan off balance for a minute -- he hasn't met many people who weren't born here, the past few years. They're already sitting in the kitchen when Ryan and Alex shuffle out, loud and cheerful and like they belong here. Tennessee gets up and gives Alex the biggest hug ever, and she's taller than him, which is pretty funny, but Ryan still feels sort of awkward. He sits down awkwardly and Z bumps her foot against his, hooks her ankle around his.

"What's up?" she says, and Ryan relaxes and grins at her.

"Did you steal our portion of breakfast?" he asks.

Z gives him a self-satisfied look and wipes a little smear of honey away from the corner of her mouth with her thumb. "I'm a hungry brigand on the run," she tells him. "Your breakfast was an unfortunate casualty."

Ryan laughs, but then raises his eyebrows in question. "Are you really on the run?"

"Nah," Z says. "We just got bored of cooking for ourselves."

"That's why we have Darren," Alex agrees, coming to squeeze in between them. Darren and Greta found the roughly hewn wooden benches, like something from a park, or a rundown church, abandoned by the side of the road one night on a food run, and now that there's more of them, they've started building up a collection of chairs. The benches really only fit two people, but Alex wriggles in persistently and drapes one leg over Ryan's and forces both of them to half sit off the edge, and it works.

"It's our turn tomorrow," Ryan reminds him, and Alex makes a mournful face. It's still cold in the mornings, so they try to have cooked breakfasts, oatmeal or pancakes or waffles or whatever, when they have the ingredients. It's awesome, but it means they have to get up earlier than usual. Z laughs at their desolate faces.

Alex spends most of his day with Z and the girls, squished up with them, and there isn't always room for Ryan, and Alex has known Z much longer, anyway, so it seems unfair to try and take away from that, from a friendship that has lasted so long and Ryan feels kind of stupid being jealous anyway.

He wanders in on Z and Alex curled up on the couch, Z playing with Alex's hair, and that makes Ryan even more stupid and jealous but he doesn't say anything about it, just, "Hey, guys."

"Ryan!" Alex says, turning a full-force grin on him. "Oh, man, we've got a surprise tonight."

"It's a secret, though," Z says, scolding Alex a little. "Don't give up my secrets, come on."

"A girl's got to have her secrets," Ryan says, nodding. "I understand. It's okay."

"It's not much of a secret since I already told Alex, though," Z says thoughtfully. She looks good, curled up by Alex's side like that, Ryan thinks; they look good. She's not so spindly and knobby-jointed as he is, and she's pretty, and looks like an adult instead of how Ryan still sometimes looks kind of like he's twelve on unluckier days. She's known Alex for something approaching forever, too, and Ryan's never going to manage that, and he has to remind himself that she is very nice and she helped break Alex out and that he does, in fact, like her.

"Yeah," Ryan says. "Well, two people can have secrets, too. Once you get past three, though, it doesn't count as much."

"Exactly," Alex says. "You'll see, later, anyway. It's going to be great."

-

Z clanks her spoon against her glass to get everyone's attention at dinner, because the kitchen's gotten noisy and raucous with ten people here. It feels like a party. Everyone stops talking, eventually, though Laena has to hush Jeff who keeps on for a moment about the weather patterns off the coast of eastern Italy.

"Everybody," Z says. "Everybody, we have some very special guests here with us today."

"Very special," Tennessee agrees. "Our special friends from 1998."

"So special," Annie says, and ducks down under the table into her backpack to pull out two bottles and raise them high above her head. It's wine, from somewhere in Italy, and Ryan wants very badly to know where they got it from but doesn't ask. The girls have four bottles, total, and all they have to drink it out of are their usual glasses and coffee mugs - there are, thankfully, enough for everyone, as long as they empty the water out of their cups first.

"This is really classy," Jeff says, as Annie pours some into his glass. "I really can't believe how classy it is."

"We're high fucking class, Jeff, don't act so surprised," Darren tells him very seriously. Then, "Dude, Sam, don't start drinking yet. You can get your drink on in a minute. We haven't even done any toasts yet."

"Oh my god, toasts," Z says, laughing. "Yes! Okay, okay. To actually getting to hang out with friends who you can never see often enough, how's that?"

"I dig it," Alex says, and it takes a while for ten people to all clink their varying sizes of cups together, but they manage. "Is it my turn? It's my turn? Okay, sweet, then I say we toast to people who manage to find booze and bring it down to share, and." He pauses for a second. "Oh, and to Ryan, because I say so, fuck you guys. That's all one toast. It counts."

"That's two, dude," Darren says, but he raises his glass anyway. "Cheers and all, but seriously, you just overturned the natural order of things."

They sit around the kitchen table making up enough toasts to get them through the first glass of wine in a highly formalized manner, sort of, and then Z stretches and says, "Dude, your chairs are really uncomfortable, let's take this party elsewhere."

"How dare you," Alex says, standing up like he's about to launch into a full-throated and passionate defense of the chairs, but Annie and Darren stand up and grab the rest of the bottles and everybody follows them into the living room. Alex stands looking a little crestfallen, looking around the empty room, and Ryan laughs and takes his hand and drags him into the living room with everyone else.

The floor is carpeted in here and Z pronounces it much more comfortable. There aren't enough sofas or chairs so they all sit around on the floor, stretching their legs out so it's a circle with everyone's feet pointing together, and Z hands around bottles again so they can top up their glasses. Alex gets his mandolin out again and he and Z have a very enthusiastic duet to some old pop song that Ryan doesn't recognize. The mandolin goes out of tune every few bars, but their voices don't, and Ryan sits very still and listens, watching Alex, and he only remembers to smile when Alex catches his eye and looks a little confused. It's not that Ryan doesn't like it. Z and Alex both have pretty amazing voices and they sound even more amazing together, and Ryan just wants to sit and listen, wants to tilt his forehead against Alex's shoulder and listen close up. It makes him a little bit sad, but in a way he can't really justify, like nostalgia.

There's not enough wine between the ten of them to get anyone drunk, but Ryan has had alcohol maybe once or twice before in his life, and the third glass has him feeling a little dizzy. He's glad they're sitting on the floor; lots of the chairs in the kitchen don't have backs.

When they finish the third bottle, Tennessee holds it up to the light and says, "Oh, it's so pretty. Look how pretty it is, Z."

"It is," Z agrees, slumping on the other side of Alex.

"Pretty and useful," Laena adds.

Greta frowns. "Is it still useful now that the wine‘s gone?"

There's silence.

"I suppose you could make a mobile or something out of it," Darren says eventually. "People do that, right?"

"Or," Annie says, and takes the bottle from Tennessee, setting it in the middle of the circle. She gives it a tentative spin, grinning like a shark when it spins around easily and points to Jeff. "Hey. Truth or dare?"

It's ridiculous, and Ryan laughs out loud, but they settle into it almost by accident. Z does a very grave rendition of the chicken dance, and Greta and Darren try to remember how to cha-cha, while Sam admits that it was him who ate those cookies three years ago and he's very sorry. Ryan's a little nervous when the bottle lands on him, but Greta just grins at him and says, "First kiss, Ross?" and Ryan doesn't mind answering that.

"My best friend, when I was fourteen," he says.

"Detail, come on," Greta says, and Ryan laughs.

"It's not very exciting," he says. "He was a year younger than me, we thought we'd try it out, made out for a while, then we played video games for the rest of the day. I don't know."

"Oh hey, snap," Z says, and gives him a high-five.

Alex scowls. "You know I kissed people before you, right?"

"So he says." Z waggles her eyebrows. Ryan wants to smile, but he's busy staring.

"I was, like, twenty-four," Alex says. "I'd kissed a lot of people, fuck you. Just because I succumbed to your manipulative will--"

"I didn't know you guys went out," Ryan says, quietly, and then blanches, because god, what if it's not past tense, and he's just made a really obvious mistake and everyone's going to stare at him--

"What?" Z laughs. "No, we never did, I was seventeen and wanted to practice kissing because I had a crush on this guy at school, that's all. Go out with Alex? Seriously? Gross."

Alex blinks at Ryan. "Did you date your friend, then?"

"No," Ryan says. He feels a little stupid, so he ducks his head and pushes his hair behind his ear, continues, "Spencer was great, but it was just -- he was my best friend. He, uh -- he and his family left after the riots a couple of years ago. Said the city was getting too dangerous, so."

"Good plan," Alex says, quietly, and Ryan nods. He tries not to think about it very much, because he's still not entirely sure if the Smiths got the chance to leave or if they just disappeared, like so many other people. It's okay and Ryan's okay and it's been a long time, but sometimes he still misses Spencer sharply and unpredictably.

He spins the bottle and lands with it pointing at Tennessee.

"Truth," she says, decisively.

"Um," Ryan says, because he's not feeling particularly creative. Z leans over Alex and whispers something in his ear, and Ryan blinks but repeats obediently, "What did you and Mark Ronson really get up to that Thanksgiving four years ago?"

"Oh, you bitch," Tennessee says. Z crows with delight.

When it finally lands on him, Alex picks dare, with the caveat that "I'm not cutting my hair." Ryan grins and hums something to himself, a half-fragment of a melody. He's not really paying attention. The wine has him feeling loose-limbed and relaxed and Z thinks the idea of dating Alex is gross and Ryan has friends around him, there's no way anybody can hurt any of them tonight.

"Okay," Darren says, grinning at Alex. "Kiss Ryan."

"No!" Greta shrieks, before Ryan can react properly, before he can even lift his head off Alex's shoulder to see what's going on. "That's cheating, you asshole!"

"Look who's trying to come crawling back," Sam says, shaking a finger at Darren. "You creep."

When Ryan does raise his head, Alex is watching him. Ryan draws in a breath. "What's going on?" he asks, and Alex's face clouds for a moment, and Ryan swallows, clarifies, "With them?"

"I don't know," Alex says. "They're assholes, you know how it is."

"Dare has been issued," Laena says, lounging back lazily. Z's watching Alex carefully.

"It's a cheat dare," Greta says.

"Whatever, okay, just because I was the one who thought of it," Darren says.

"I don't -- what?" Ryan says.

"Hey," Alex says. Ryan turns to look at him, and Alex touches Ryan's hair gently. "Just. C'mere"

Something is twisting in Ryan's stomach. He strokes Alex's jaw, curving his hand around Alex's cheek, holding him there for a moment, and Alex leans in and kisses him. It's not really that different to any of the other times he's kissed anyone. Ryan doesn't mean to close his eyes, but. He can feel Alex's stubble under his fingers, and when he curls them slightly, pressing into Alex's skin, Alex tilts his chin up a little more and Ryan opens his mouth on a sigh without quite meaning to.

Alex pulls back. "Alright, honor satisfied," he says.

Ryan is not off balance, not quite, and not shaking, though he thinks he could be if he let himself, and he doesn't put his head back on Alex's shoulder immediately. Instead he sits looking down at his hands, at his fingers and veins and the way his joints work, the jut of bone at his wrist, and he thinks about the underlying structures of things.

Mostly Ryan is looking at his hands to keep himself from touching his mouth, which he wants to without quite having a reason for it. He presses the fingertips of both hands together and shifts his weight a little so he's not touching Alex.

"Alex, Alex," Annie's saying. "Hey, your turn."

"Right," Alex says. "Yeah, okay." He spins, and gets Jeff, who he ends up daring to say something nice about everybody in the room.

"That's hardly even a dare," Jeff says, bemused, but he does it anyway.

"Seriously," Greta says, when he's done. She is speaking a little more deliberately than usual. "I expected more from you, Alex Greenwald."

"So much more," Sam says, shaking his head.

Ryan keeps looking at his hands, then he stops and looks at the bottle instead and doesn't really pay attention to what Jeff asks Laena because he's reaching blindly for Alex's hand and he already knows what their hands look like held together. Alex gives Ryan's fingers a squeeze, kind of like a question, and Ryan lets go and says, "Maybe I'll go to bed."

He looks down so he won't have to see everyone looking at him, and he thinks, maybe, maybe he'll take a shower, first, monopolize the bathroom for himself for a while. He kind of wants to be alone. In his head, he can hear a song taking shape that he knows he will never get to play because he's not even sure he has the right voice to sing it with.

"Tired already?" Z asks.

"Yeah," Ryan says. "Yeah." He doesn't move at first, not for a little while, but then he stretches out his legs and gets to his feet and Alex is watching him and he looks back at Alex and wants, but what he doesn't want is to mess up the party, and he's still having a good time, too, but he thinks that probably he should just go to sleep, maybe.

Ryan doesn't mean to, not really, but he lifts his hand and feels his lips (they're dry, a little rough with dead skin) and figures out something new, that he is smiling. He's not sure he's supposed to be.

Ryan nods a little to himself, like he's worked something out even though he has no idea, and then he goes to the bathroom after all, turns the shower on and sits on the closed lid of the toilet while he waits for the water to heat up. He pulls his socks off without using his hands, pressing his feet together and dragging down the heel. When the shower's warmed up, he takes off the rest of his clothes and shivers in the cold air for a moment before he steps in.

The hot water's nice, and makes Ryan think about how long it's been since he last showered and conclude that it's way too long. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes and tries not to think a lot about anything, to keep the buzzing in his head low. He wraps his arms around himself, and then he jerks off with his mouth open, leaning up against the wall, forehead pressed to the arm bracing himself. He washes his hair.

When he goes out, putting his boxers back on and toweling his hair dry, the others are still talking and laughing in the living room. Ryan looks in at them as he passes by, and Alex is sitting pressed up against Z's side, not really paying attention, tracing his finger in circles on the carpet. Ryan remembers, abruptly and vividly, Alex doing the same thing, that morning before Ryan went to go get the files. Ryan keeps walking.

He stops in Alex's bedroom, dropping his towel on a chair. His own mattress is still set up, he knows, unused in the other room for weeks now.

He gets into bed and pulls the covers up all around him, huddling down until he can warm up again, shivering since he stepped out of the shower. Alex's pillow has a couple of strands of hair on it and Ryan grins before he swipes them aside and pulls it closer, turning his face sideways onto it. This is kind of ridiculous, he thinks, but he closes his eyes anyway and breathes in and out, trying to lull himself to sleep.

It doesn't work very well, even when Ryan shifts and rolls around and settles into a more characteristic sleeping position. Footsteps pass up and down the hall a couple of times over the next few hours and every time Ryan tenses up, but nobody comes in for a long while, not until Ryan hears voices at the door, Z's and Tennessee's clear and distinct though he can't hear what they're actually saying.

Only then does the door open, and Ryan keeps his eyes shut, breathes lightly while Alex pads around the room. He hears the rustle of Alex stepping out of his pants and a low curse, wonders what happened, if Alex has stubbed his toe again or something. Then the mattress shifts and Ryan squeezes his eyes tight shut and Alex's feet bump against his legs. They're cold. Ryan lies perfectly still, and Alex curls uncertainly up behind Ryan, tucking his knees under Ryan's, draping an arm carefully over Ryan's waist.

Ryan breathes in and rolls over in one swift movement, jostling Alex a little. He puts one arm around Alex's back to clench his fist in the t-shirt Alex sleeps in and presses his face against Alex's chest. He's still shivering.

"You're not asleep," Alex says, quietly, like this is new information. Ryan doesn't dignify it with a response, just curls his fingers up tighter in the fabric, so Alex says, "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Ryan says eventually.

Alex breathes out, slowly. He shifts a bit, moves one arm under his cheek and lets the other rest somewhere around the small of Ryan's back. "You cold?"

"Uh-huh." Ryan nods, a little. He's in so close he can hear the almost-scratching sound of his hair against the cotton of Alex's shirt. It's a weird noise to notice.

Alex pulls him in a little closer. "Here, I'll share."

"What?"

"Oh, just, you can have some body heat, if you want. I'm not as cold."

"Your toes are," Ryan says, laughing soft and sleepy. His voice is muffled, and all he can smell right now is Alex, and he thinks it isn't fair at all that other people should try to decide what they're doing.

"They're mine, though, and I'll still respect them in the morning," Alex says, and scrunches his toes against the top of Ryan's foot just to be annoying with the cold until whenever they warm up.

Ryan makes a face, even though Alex can't see it. "Don't be mean."

"I'm trying to share my life experiences with you, Ross," Alex says. "You'll never know how cold my feet are unless you feel it."

"You're such a creep," Ryan says fondly. "The others didn't warn me well enough."

"They warned you, like, every other day," Alex says absently. He sounds like he's thinking about something else, so Ryan lies quiet and lets him, until Alex says, "I should have warned you more about them, maybe."

Ryan scratches lightly at Alex's back, trying to be reassuring. "Seriously, though, what are they doing?"

"I don't know." Alex shakes his head; Ryan can't see, but he feels the movement, hears the rustle of Alex's hair on his pillow. "It's some stupid game or whatever about us, I don't get the rules. They have a rulebook, though, so you know. We could always steal it and burn it."

"Yeah," Ryan says, even though he's pretty sure he doesn't want to. He's pretty sure if they got their hands on it they'd read it, and he's not sure he wants to know what everybody else can see.

"It's not like," Alex begins, and Ryan waits but Alex doesn't say anything more.

Ryan sighs. "You ever miss sunshine?" he asks, not quite sure where the thought's come from.

"Yeah," Alex says. Ryan turns his head a little so he can breathe a little easier, Alex's heart beating under his cheek. Alex's hand is resting on Ryan's bare back, fingers curled slightly. Ryan's pretty sure it's trembling. Alex says, "Maybe, maybe tomorrow we could sneak out."

"Is that a good idea?"

"If we don't go far," Alex says. "We could -- we could go up to the roof of this building, and if we sit, like, with our backs to the wall up the top there probably no one would be able to see us, anyway."

"Okay," Ryan says. "I. Yes. Let's do that."

-

They're up early the next morning, or, Ryan is and Alex wakes up soon after, and Ryan goes for the kitchen first. "We should have snacks," he explains, patiently, since Alex isn't fully awake yet, just kind of sleepily following after him. "To celebrate."

"Oh." Alex nods, standing behind Ryan as Ryan looks in the refrigerator, and leans heavily against Ryan's back. "Makes sense."

"Grapes are quiet," Ryan says. "Right? We've got all these apples, but they're so loud."

"Grapes are, like, compact, too," Alex says. "They're modular."

"Modular," Ryan repeats, laughing a little, low and quiet. "Here, hey, I gotta." He has to lean forward to get the bag from the refrigerator, and Alex backs off and gives him the space to do it in, going to put on the tea kettle. "No coffee this morning?"

"It's a tea morning," Alex says. "Try to tell me it isn't."

"I," Ryan starts, then laughs again. "I can't. You're right. Okay. Tea it is. Or tea it'll be."

When he woke up, Ryan felt kind of wary, not entirely sure what the day would bring, the feeling lingering from last night, but those shadows are getting burned off and he's feeling good again.

It isn't ideal, but they have a couple thermoses with lids that close, so once the water has boiled and the tea has steeped Ryan pours it into those and puts them in a cloth bag with the grapes and some sunflower seeds. He hefts it over his shoulder, experimentally, and then says, "Okay, let's go."

"Wait, where are we going?"

"Up," Ryan says. "Remember?"

"Right," Alex says. "Right, okay."

They head out, through the halls and the tunnel and the manhole cover, up through the little service room and outside to the grey morning light, and scale the fire escape all fifteen stories. Ryan's tired by the time they get to the top, out of breath, and he and Alex slump together against the wall of the covered stairwell that opens onto the roof. That leads inside the building, and maybe they could have gone that way, but Ryan is not wholly sure if people live upstairs or not and Alex has never said anything either way.

They have a view to the east where the sun is still mostly coming up. Ryan's never gotten to watch the sunrise without his sunglasses, he doesn't think, unless he has. A lot of things have happened recently that he's never done before.

There are birds singing, though. Ryan doesn't know what kind. Some pigeons are huddled on the edge of the roof, cooing to one another. Ryan tosses them some of the sunflower seeds, thinking they deserve them more than he does.

Ryan sits down and unscrews the lid of his thermos and very, very carefully tips it towards his mouth, making sure the temperature is okay before even taking a real sip. It is, though, a comfortable warm that spreads to slightly chilly fingers and toes. He has shoes and socks on, but he's keeping his toes curled up in them.

Alex stands against the wall, looking out at the city below until Ryan tugs on his pant leg and Alex sits down next to him and puts his head on Ryan's shoulder. "Hey."

"Hey," Ryan says. He feels almost nervous, not that they'll get caught, but this new feeling that's tugging at him since last night, or maybe not so new, just more present.

"Hi." Alex grins at Ryan and stretches his legs out. "I can feel myself warming up," he informs Ryan, and it takes Ryan a moment to work out what he means.

"The sun's not even overhead yet, though." Alex shrugs, and Ryan can feel the bony movement of Alex's shoulder next to his. "The bricks feel warm," Ryan concedes, leaning against them, and Alex makes a humming, agreeable noise.

"I wonder how long they, like. Retain the heat or whatever."

Ryan shrugs. Alex reaches for the cloth bag and takes out the grapes, offers them to Ryan. Ryan takes three and stuffs them into his cheek, making a face, cheek bulging, and Alex laughs and tosses one up in the air, tilts his head back and opens his mouth to catch it without any hands.

"Oh, hey," Ryan says, and swallows the grapes in his mouth, trying Alex's move out himself. The grape bounces off his teeth, to be followed by one that doesn't even get near him, another that hits his nose, and one that manages to get him in the eye, making him curse and rub at it until it stops watering. "Fuck you, asshole," Ryan tells Alex, who is busy shaking with laughter beside him.

He throws another grape up and catches it this time, and the surprise is enough that he swallows it whole and nearly chokes but, whatever, he can do it. He tries it again and gets it in properly, and he smiles smugly at Alex.

Alex rolls his eyes. Ryan throws another grape up and this time Alex lunges unexpectedly, his head bumping against Ryan's, stealing the grape before Ryan can catch it and snapping his mouth shut with a self-satisfied look.

"I hate you," Ryan says, and Alex draws his knees up and presses his face against them to muffle his laughter. "Douchebag."

Alex says, "Tea," and Ryan hands him the thermos.

"Not that you deserve it," he says darkly, and Alex chokes on the tea, which is just reward, Ryan thinks. Alex sets the thermos down, and his mouth is wet. Ryan loses focus for a moment, and then Alex looks down and wipes his sleeve over his mouth and there's that prickly, nervous feeling back in the pit of Ryan's stomach, the base of his spine.

"Yeah," he says, a little aimlessly. Alex is fiddling with a loose thread in the torn knee of his jeans. Ryan doesn't want to turn them into this; he was almost sure, that they wouldn't, but he wants to be completely sure, he has enough uncertainty to last him a lifetime. Or, a very long while, at least. He bumps his shoulder against Alex's again and says, "I do, I approve of this sun thing."

Alex looks up, smiling. "It's pretty cool, I guess. Life to the planet and all that."

Ryan nods. Alex has moved his hand to Ryan's knee, is plucking at a tiny hole in his trousers. Ryan wonders if Alex has even noticed doing it.

"Sometimes I forget it exists," Ryan admits. "Like – not the sun, but the option? Being up here, I guess."

Alex's grip on Ryan's knee gets a little tighter. "You don't – we can still work it out," he says, staring at the sky getting lighter in front of them. "There's still ways – you could get to Mexico, before border security gets worse than it is now, even, or like, keep on heading down into South America, it's, it'd be okay there, and—"

"I don't really want to go anywhere you're not," Ryan says, and Alex lets out a breath.

"It's, this is going to make me sound like even more of an asshole," Alex starts, and waits a second before going on. "But it's just, you know. I'm glad."

Ryan blinks. "How does that make you sound like an asshole?"

"I don't know, I just got used to having you around and shit.”

"We could go to Mexico," Ryan says. "You and me and everyone."

Alex is quiet.

"Or further south, like you said," Ryan says. "Somewhere it'll be safe and warm. And we could, we could all live in like, a little house on the beach somewhere and, I don't know, raise llamas or something."

"Or something," Alex says. "Did I ever tell you why I'm still here?"

"No," Ryan says.

"So I went to New York a while ago, because - because some shit happened with an old friend and I wanted to be someplace else, and I knew people out there," he begins. "And New York, it's a lot different than here, right? They still have riots, and I went to so many fucking parties, you don't even know. Like, I'm just as wanted there as I am here, but there was just - it was a lot easier to get fucked up, and a lot easier to fuck shit up because people were willing to do it. You'd ask a stranger if they wanted to go break some windows, and you'd go find some bricks and break some windows."

Ryan just sits and listens, quietly, and rests his head on top of Alex's where Alex is still leaning against him.

Alex says, "And anyway, like, I was out there, and people were getting shit done, or not getting it done but - at least they were trying instead of just running and hiding, and all I could think about half the time was how fucked up it is out here and how I wanted it to be like that here, too. And I haven't really - it's not the same, but I don't want to just give up on this city, yeah? It feels like cheating."

"I don't know how much there is left to save here, though," Ryan says.

"Yeah," Alex says. "Yeah, no, I know." He goes quiet, thinking, and Ryan sits up and braids some of the hair at Alex's temple very loosely, doing a sloppy job of it before combing it back out with his fingers and just letting his hand stay where it is, part in Alex's hair at the side of his head. Alex turns his head a little so Ryan is more cupping his face.

Ryan says, soft, "Maybe you could take me to New York sometime, then."

Alex blinks at him. "Yeah?"

"Not permanently," Ryan says. "But like. I'd like to see what it was like. I'd like to see a city all -- I'd like to see it without the police."

"They're still there," Alex says.

Ryan nods, running his thumb along the line of Alex's jaw. "I know that. But, you know. Not as in control."

"Right," Alex says.

Ryan shuffles around, balancing with his free hand on Alex's knee so he doesn't fall forward too far, and tilts his forehead against Alex's, closing his eyes. He can't see the sun anymore, but he can feel it rising, light crawling across his back.

"Last night," Ryan says. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, sees red and black swim into each other.

"I'll talk to them," Alex says, sounding a little breathless. "I'll, I don't know, I'll threaten to withhold dishes duty--"

"Greta won't feed you if you do that," Ryan tells him.

Alex is quiet for a minute, then says, "That would suck."

"Yup," Ryan agrees. He adds, in a voice just above a whisper, "That wasn't what I was talking about, really. Alex. Alex."

"Yeah," Alex says, "I'm here."

Ryan rubs his thumb over Alex's skin again, feeling his skin catch on stubble, the soft edge of Alex's bottom lip. The sun is very warm at his back. Ryan shifts a little and presses his mouth to Alex's jaw, and feels Alex let out a breath. He lifts his head a little more and kisses the corner of Alex's mouth, and almost lets his hand slip from Alex's face because he's shaking a little again, and he wonders if he'll ever stop that.

"Ryan," Alex says, voice sounding a little raw, and when Ryan lifts his head Alex has his eyes closed. Ryan grins, and kissed the end of Alex's nose. Alex says, "Oh, you suck, you're a jerk," and then his hand is sliding into Ryan's hair, tugging slightly, and he pulls Ryan down properly to his mouth.

Ryan keeps his eyes just barely open, squinting, because things get a little confusing up this close but he likes looking at Alex and the way Alex's eyelashes flutter a little - Ryan likes that word, flutter, it works but is also a little bit silly - and anyway, Ryan kisses Alex back, mouth closed and gentle. He parts his mouth, and Alex's teeth catch on his lower lip, and Ryan is very careful to keep slow and quiet.

Alex leans back against the brick wall and Ryan follows after, and they trade quick, miniature kisses, not quite settling into anything more than that.

After a while Alex squints one eye open, and turns aside so Ryan ends up kissing the corner of his mouth, instead, and Ryan thinks that's okay. But Alex says, "You think we should get inside?"

"Hmm." There's traffic on the street below, now, not much of it but the cars are audible from up here though they're not facing the right way to look down on them. Ryan thinks of how small the people on the street must be from here. He wants to lean over and watch them all day. Ryan is thinking of all this, but at the same time he is following the curve of Alex's jaw with his lips, and his teeth soon find Alex's earlobe.

"Maybe," Ryan finally answers, reluctant, and doesn't quite press his lips against Alex's jaw though he's close enough that he can feel stubble with his lips. Instead, he breathes out then sits back away again. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I don't know," Ryan says, because he isn't sure what it is he's apologizing for though he's sure there's something that needs it. "Do you think ..." He trails off, not sure how to finish the sentence and not sure what he was trying to ask anyway.

"Yeah," Alex says.

"Okay," Ryan nods. "I don't know what you're agreeing with, but thanks."

"Does it matter?"

"No," Ryan says, and he starts packing things back up and making sure they don't leave anything up here. The rooftop is not a particularly popular spot, and it's not likely anyone will find it if they forget anything, but Ryan doesn't want to risk it. Alex helps out, though there is not much to help with at all. Mostly all Alex does is put his thermos back in the bag, fingers bumping against Ryan's as he does, and Ryan is kind of hyperaware of Alex right now.

He's always pretty aware of Alex, keeps watch from the corner of his eye and listens on the far edges of his hearing if he even thinks Alex might be somewhere close by, and he doesn't always remember to turn that behavior off, but still, right now, Alex seems nearly too present.

He wants to hold Alex's hand, but a fire escape is not a very convenient place for that sort of thing, and they have fifteen stories to climb down. The way in to the safe house isn't very convenient, either, with the manhole, but he holds onto two of Alex's fingers for a little while as they head down the tunnel and then back inside.

The others are up and in the kitchen, talking about something, and Darren looks up and says, "Oh, good, you two are alive."

"Yeah," Alex says. "That we are."

"So we were looking at those files Ryan got, and that stuff you got from that guy the other day," Darren says. "Which, I mean, you know that, you were looking at it too, but Jeff noticed some overlaps, is all. Might be important."

"Yeah?" Alex says, fingers curled loosely around Ryan's.

Ryan kind of wants to lie down on his back and close his eyes and imagine he's looking at the stars, but instead he half-listens as Darren talks about the latest group of people traveling through town and what they're wanted for and what other rumors he's picked up about possible planned actions.

Darren says, "Z was telling me last night, she's been in touch with a guy, who's going to be bringing - well, it's going to be insane."

"I think I might go look at the ceiling," Ryan says, cheerful enough, and he wants to kiss Alex again, which is all he has wanted for a while now probably. Instead, he pulls Alex's hand up to his mouth and kisses each knuckle in turn and then lets it drop and walks off. The living room ceiling has whitewashed molding that looks different depending on where they've got the lamps, because of the way the shadows shift.

Behind him, he hears Greta saying, "Oh my god, that one's mine, I call dibs."

"You can't call fucking dibs," Sam is saying. "That's not even - we're all in the room, Greta. You can't get dibs on something that just happened."

"Guys," Alex says, and he keeps talking but Ryan manages not to pay attention. He's pretty proud of himself.

Ryan lies on the floor and his shirt rides up a little, so he can feel the carpet prickly at his back. He squints up at the ceiling, and if he half-closes his eyes and lets his vision go a little unfocused then he can almost pretend its a night sky, shadows and spots of light.

There are footsteps on the carpet but Ryan doesn't open his eyes. He doesn't know who it is, but he knows it's not Alex, and after a moment Z lies down next to him and bumps his arm with hers.

"What're you doing?" she whispers.

"Stargazing," Ryan tells her.

"Cool," Z says, and she shuffles around a little bit until her head is propped up on his arm, half on his shoulder. Usually Ryan would be annoyed but when he opens his eyes properly to look at her, she grins at him, quick and wicked, and it makes him laugh.

They lie quiet for a little while, and Ryan listens to the rise and fall of voices in the other room, though not what they're saying. He can pick out Alex's, of course, and for a while Alex sounds vaguely confused and tense and then he laughs, and Ryan relaxes. Z turns her head so she's looking at him and says, "Hey. You alright?"

Ryan blinks at her. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You left early last night," Z says. "And Alex was a bit -- anyway. It was kind of a cruel dare."

"Oh," Ryan says. He raises his free hand and scratches at his stomach idly, closing his eyes again, smiling at the ceiling. "No, it's cool. We. You know, we worked it out."

Z shifts slightly, and when Ryan squints at her, she's propped herself up on her elbow, staring at him, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

Ryan blinks. "I don't know. What?"

"Insert death threat here, bla bla," Z says, and then drops back down on his arm and goes quiet. After a little while, she rolls to the side, clutching his sleeve, and Ryan thinks she's fallen asleep. It's kind of sweet.

He's half drowsing himself when someone else lies down on his other side. Alex says, "You tired?" and Ryan rolls his head to the side, so Alex's fingers are brushing his cheek.

"I guess," he says. He hasn't really considered it, but, "We got up earlier than usual."

"Caught that sunrise." Alex nods wisely.

Ryan grins at him. Alex doesn't move for a moment, watching Ryan, and then he rolls onto his side and kisses Ryan, and Ryan tries hard not to keep smiling and ruin it. He eases his arm out from under Z instead, trying not to wake her, and then he shuffles to the side and pulls Alex down on top of him, breathes in deep with Alex pressing him down into the carpet. It's like the way he wakes up nearly every morning, only this time he doesn't elbow Alex to get him to roll off, and Alex doesn't look away.

They break apart after a minute. Alex laughs soft and a little unsteady, says, "Z's right there."

"Yeah," Ryan says. "Don't be a creep." Alex rolls his eyes at him and Ryan asks, "Did they find any important stuff in, in the files, then?"

"Yeah," Alex says. "Some good locations, and like, the new patrol plans that they're going to put into place next month. Hopefully they won't realise we've got the information and change it, but I think we're good. I don't think they would have seen it."

"Fingers crossed," Ryan says. He spreads his legs a little, so Alex can fit neatly between. Alex laughs again, a little frantic, and presses his face against Ryan's shoulder. Ryan slides his hand under Alex's shirt and fits it to Alex's lower back, holds him there, warm and steady.

Ryan wants to kiss Alex again, and he can so he does, quick and self-assured and glad to be alive.

"Who's the creep now?" Alex asks, grinning down at him, but it still seems off. Ryan just wants to make whatever's wrong better.

"Still you," Ryan tells him. "Definitely still you."

"Oh," Alex says. "That's too bad."

Right now, Ryan keeps still, not shaking even a little, and in the simple act of being there he feels better. He tells Alex, "It's okay. I understand. You can't help it."

"You know how it is," Alex nods, his nose brushing Ryan's because they're still so close. Ryan has to squint a little cross-eyed to keep him in focus. "But - yeah, though, it's good. Few new places to get food, if everything turns out okay."

"Hmm," Ryan says, and - this is what he was afraid of - now that he's had a little he just wants more and more, and feels incredibly selfish because of it. He doesn't want to ask too much of Alex all at once, not with everything Alex has already done for him. It doesn't seem quite fair, and there are other things, things that are probably a lot more important even though right now they don't feel that way.

Alex says, dropping his voice to a whisper, "Some of the people coming through, I know them, from way back. They're - somebody says they want to try and start some shit out here."

"Yeah?"

"They were in Corpus Christi and San Antonio, when - when all that shit happened," Alex says. Ryan knows those names, remembers the news, that there had been a very gracious deal made with the Mexican government and those cities had been ceded over to them in exchange for more favorable trade agreements and a good deal of money, and Ryan's never given much thought as to whether or not he believed that. "So I don't know. What they're going to do."

"Oh," Ryan says, then, "Are you going to want to help?"

"I don't know yet," Alex says. "Maybe. Probably."

Ryan closes his eyes and pretends the faint and distant colors behind his eyes are stars, or maybe nebulas and supernovas.

"Ryan," Alex says, and he sounds a little nervous. His right hand is still fisted in Ryan's hair and he tugs a little, gentle but insistent, until Ryan opens his eyes again.

"That's good," Ryan says softly. "You were just saying about New York and -- I bet those guys will break a lot of windows with you."

"Ryan," Alex repeats, and Ryan wishes Alex wouldn't, he wishes Alex wouldn't say his name like that. "We were -- I was just explaining to you."

"Jesus, I know," Ryan says. He scowls up at Alex. "I'm not going to -- like, I'm not your mom, go for your fucking life."

"Well, yeah," Alex says. "You being my mom would be totally inappropriate, don't say anything like that ever again." He grins down at Ryan, kind of hopefully, but Ryan can't quite muster the energy to smile back.

"Okay, well," Ryan says. "When are they getting here?"

"Couple of weeks, I don't know," Alex says. "It's all -- they try not to make definite plans, I don't know. It's dangerous."

"Right, of course," Ryan says. He just wants a good thing for one day, fuck. He wishes Alex would get off him, but he can't quite make himself move, push him off.

Alex touches the side of Ryan's face, fingers stroking a tentative path down his cheek. "You could come with us," he whispers. "I. I'd like it if you came along. They should meet you. You'd like them."

Don't tell me who I'd like, Ryan thinks. He says, "Yeah, I think I told you, you know. Not so much with the useful."

Alex makes a face. "You're still on that, seriously?"

"It's not like I've magically become more useful," Ryan says. "I'm still just me, Alex. I bet - I bet they'd be real excited. Like, oooh, look, some kid who was unlucky enough to have an ex-Mormon roommate! Look, everyone, the day's just been saved!"

"Ryan, for the love of god." Alex huffs out an exasperated laugh. "You don't have to be - there'll be a lot to do. Pretty sure no one'll notice even if you decide not to do anything, but seriously."

Ryan frowns, and in response Alex twists his face up into an exaggerated pout, lip quivering, until Ryan can't help but laugh.

"Seriously, though," Alex says, very quiet. "You're - maybe I said some things, but you're useful, okay, you've done a lot."

Ryan's eyebrows go up, questioning.

Alex keeps stroking the side of Ryan's face. "I'm serious. Like, don't try to be a little bitch and argue, you've been useful as fuck. Even just having somebody else to go find food, you know? That kind of stuff matters. And. You know. Breaking people out of jail's a pretty big deal, too."

"That was mostly Z," Ryan says. "And Sam."

"And you," Alex says. He looks a little unsettled for a moment, and Ryan looks at him and can't help touching Alex's cheek, smoothing Alex's hair back. Alex repeats, "And you. Okay?"

"Okay," Ryan says.

"C'mon. Say it."

"Fine, and me, whatever," Ryan says.

"How many other people do you know can say they helped break somebody out of jail?"

Ryan half-lifts one shoulder in something like a shrug, but it's a weird gesture when made on his back. "Two."

"Shut the fuck up," Alex laughs. "Besides Z and Sam."

"Hey, hey, now you're trying to erase their efforts? That's low," Ryan says. "That's so low. You've known Z forever and you're all trying to pretend she doesn't count."

"Man, fuck you." Alex buries his head against Ryan's chest, shaking with laughter and trying to be quiet so as not to wake Z up. She's not that far away. "Look, I just," he says eventually, serious again. "Will you? Please? There'll be something for you to do. There's always something."

Ryan is quiet. He just wants to make out with Alex and pretend this conversation never happened, and that's why, that's why he didn't want things to be this way. This is what he was afraid of and why he never even let himself think it, and because he wants to go with Alex just because Alex asks.

Then again, he's not sure that would be any different.

"I wanna show you off to my friends, and then we can go to prom and get milkshakes at the old diner afterwards," Alex says, very seriously.

"By prom you mean a riot," Ryan says.

"Well." Alex pauses. "Yes. Probably."

"What are the milkshakes in this metaphor?"

Alex waggles his eyebrows. Ryan makes a horrified face.

"Please never speak to me again," he says.

He rolls over onto his stomach fast enough to dislodge Alex, but Alex is surprisingly good at hanging on, so he just ends up lying on top of Ryan's back, cackling. He nuzzles at Ryan's neck and Ryan rolls his shoulders back, trying to shrug him off, and Alex bites his ear, and Ryan starts laughing, and then Z sits up and says, "What the fuck."

They both freeze, turning to look at her slowly. Z runs a hand through her hair -- it's short enough that it doesn't look that rumpled after an impromptu nap on the floor, but there is a strand sticking up oddly -- and gives them an unimpressed look.

Alex opens his mouth.

"Seriously," Z says. "I don't want to know."

Alex shuts his mouth.

Z stands up, rolling her eyes and walking out to the kitchen, where Ryan can hear Tennessee talking in a loud, excited voice about something or other. Ryan tilts his head so he can look at Alex properly, and Alex grins sheepishly down at him.

Ryan folds his arms beneath him and rests his cheek on them. Alex doesn't show any intention of moving anytime soon, which Ryan guesses is okay, though he's a little too conscious of Alex's weight on him, Alex lined up nicely, hips pressing down against him. Alex settles himself comfortably, tucking his chin over Ryan's shoulder. "I could be your bonfire," he says, very seriously.

"Me and Jon used to have them," Ryan says. "Jonfires."

"The guy who helped you get into the police station?"

"Mmmn."

"Huh," Alex says. "And the one you got high and wrote an album with, right?"

Ryan blinks. "I'm pretty sure you weren't in the room for that conversation," he says slowly.

"I was skulking," Alex tells him.

Ryan says, "I think we've overused the word creep in this conversation, but you do invite it sometimes, you know."

"I know," Alex says. "My apologies."

He leans further in and Ryan twists around as best he can. It's an awkward angle and it hurts his neck, but he likes the way Alex runs his thumb down the line of Ryan's cheek, and he feels dizzy and a little ridiculous and mostly like he's not ever going to want to do anything else ever again. He wonders how the others haven't walked in yet, wonders if Z went and warned them. It seems uncharacteristically lucky.

"Hey," he whispers, and Alex pulls back and lets Ryan wriggle out from under him, lets him sit up properly. Ryan crosses his legs and rests his chin in his hands, grins and says, "I was going to break my neck."

"That would suck," Alex says solemnly.

"Yeah," Ryan says. "I need it."

"I've noticed that," Alex agrees. "Having a working neck’s pretty great, really.”

Ryan laughs and cups his hands around his neck, wrists together at the front so that his elbows point out awkwardly. "Well, anyway," he says. "I'm keeping it safe."

"Good plan," Alex says. He leans forward and kisses Ryan's nose, and doesn't move back out of Ryan's space but doesn't touch Ryan anymore, either. Ryan blinks up at him, blurry and vivid at once this close. "You keep doing that."

-

 

Ryan notices only after a few days, but time seems to be speeding up, or less of it is spent idle. Something like that.

Z and the girls go home, not because they're unwelcome, but because Z has to rendezvous with a contact of hers and after that she tells them, eyes bright with excitement, that she's going to be working on something big, that a friend of hers pulled through on some supplies the likes of which she has not seen in years.

Ryan is used to mornings being fairly slow and quiet, for the most part, but more and more people are getting up early to go places, and at any given time at least one person is out of the safehouse meeting with someone or picking something up or dropping something off.

There is a tension in the air, and Ryan can feel it tighten, feel things accelerate. It feels like waking up from a long, long dream; or like the city has been holding its breath and finally can't take it anymore. Something like that. Their radio, perpetually tuned to the local police scanner, picks up calls coming more and more often for more and more serious things, and the voices of the dispatchers and officers grow more and more harried.

Alex and Jeff are out doing something, and Ryan is getting ready to head out to meet with someone and grab more food when they get back. He's got a scarf tied around his neck that he may or may not pull up over his face later - he isn't sure yet if it will be necessary.

He hears the door from the tunnel slam, and then Alex bounds into the kitchen where Ryan’s getting ready, cheeks pink from the cold. "Ryan, Ryan. Guess what?"

"I don't know," Ryan says. "Is, uh - how important is this? Because I'm about to go."

"Holy shit, this is so important," Alex tells him. Alex's eyes are shining and he can't stop grinning as he reaches for Ryan's scarf, grabbing onto one of the tassels and leading Ryan by it to the living room.

"What?"

"Here, no, wait," Alex says, spinning around and getting behind Ryan to cover his eyes with his hands. "Jeff! Jeff, you motherfucker, get back here."

"Damn it, Alex," Jeff says, but he's around, laughing. "What?"

"Here, here," Alex says. "Dude. Give it to him. Ryan. Put your hands out. No, little wider - okay, yeah, that's good."

Ryan scrunches up his face, just so Alex can feel his impatience in a more tactile way. "What?"

"Here, ready?" Jeff asks.

"I guess so, I have no idea," Ryan says. He can sort of see light in the cracks between Alex's fingers, but nothing more distinct than that so he keeps his eyes shut. "Tell me it's nothing creepy."

"It's the least creepy thing ever," Alex tells him. "It's fucking beautiful, okay. You're going to love this. You'll love it."

"Here," Jeff says, and it takes Ryan a second to figure out what he has, and he readjusts his grip so his hand is around the neck and his other supporting the body better. "You guys'll have to share."

"See?" Alex asks.

"No," Ryan says. "I feel it, but I can't actually see it. You know."

"Oh, right," Alex says, and drops his hands from Ryan's eyes so that Ryan can get a proper look at the old acoustic guitar he's holding. The top two strings are missing, and the bottom four are horribly out of tune when he strums them each in turn, but the instrument has a strong, solid voice and is made of some of the most beautiful wood Ryan has ever seen.

Ryan lets out a breath. "This is."

"Don't tell me you can't remember what it is," Alex says, and laughs. "You've seen a guitar, right?"

"Shut up," Ryan says. "Wow. Wow, I, okay. I don't even want to leave now, but I still have to. Fuck."

"Go, go," Alex says, shoving him from behind. "Get the fuck out of here. I'm going to restring this thing and hopefully remember how to play it before you get back."

"That's not even fair." Ryan wants to spend time with the guitar, too, and with Alex, in fixing it up and making things right again. He wonders about the angle of the neck, about if anything needs tightening, if the thing can hold its tuning for more than thirty seconds at a time. He wants to play songs; he wants to write music and sing and stay up all night holding on to it.

He pulls his scarf up over his face. "Okay. Fine, whatever. I'll be back."

-

He does the food run fast enough to be a little bit dangerous, even, not watching very well where's he going. The good thing about the city at the moment is that the cops who might have been wandering around looking for someone like Ryan to slip up are all called in after much more illegal things than picking up something to eat for an underground rebel safehouse. Ryan kind of likes his life a lot sometimes, thinking things like that.

The guy who he meets has a map with some good food locations pointed out on it, and he tries to go through them really slowly, and Ryan stands there nodding his head and shuffling his feet.

On his way back he's humming, putting his fingers in chord patterns on the back of his hand. He can't remember a couple of really simple ones, but he thinks maybe once he has his hands on the guitar that will change.

When he gets inside, he dumps the bag of food on the kitchen table -- there's nothing particularly exciting there, mostly just useful stuff that they were running down on, a big new bag of rice and a tin of powdered soy milk -- and follows the sound of guitar. Alex is in Greta's room (Ryan's room, really, but it makes Ryan feel weird to think about it like that), and Greta hums a note now and then while Alex fiddles with the tuning. He's replaced the strings, Ryan sees, and when Ryan comes in he looks up and beams.

Ryan fits himself to Alex's side and says, "Okay, show me what you've got."

-

The days get busier and busier, people to meet, what seems like hundreds of errands to run, and Ryan can't help feeling useful, but only because everyone is, there's almost always something going on that someone has to do. None of them get a lot of sleep, especially because they use the hours when they could be sleeping playing the guitar, fine-tuning it, trying careful, tentative repairs.

Ryan's happy, but a little on edge; one morning he wakes up to find Alex out of bed, and when he goes out into the kitchen Alex is holding Z tight, her eyes close, ash smudged along her cheeks. Ryan doesn't mention it and Alex doesn't bring it up, but there are broadcasts all that day about a major fire destroying government records, how the police were very close to catching the assailants, and that night Alex's nightmares come back, the ones he had for weeks after the jailbreak. Ryan wakes him up and Alex lies awake for nearly two hours, shivering in Ryan's arms.

Alex comes back from a basic intelligence run one day and tells everyone, eyes bright, "They might be here in a couple of days. It's happening faster than we -- it could be now."

Ryan swallows, holding white-knuckled onto the back of the chair. He's stopped picking fights about it, but the idea of what's coming frightens him, and Alex running out headlong to meet it frightens him more. Alex looks at him, though, and his eyes are bright, and when they disband, the others filing out of the room, Alex slams Ryan up against the wall, hard enough to knock the breath out of Ryan, and they're both laughing a little when Alex kisses him. Ryan stops laughing pretty quickly, breath coming ragged, scratching at Alex's back.

"Hey," Ryan says later on, and Alex makes a grumpy sound and pushes Ryan back against the mattress, keeping him from sitting up. He laughs, and says, "Alex, c'mon, let me -- I have to -- let me up--"

"No," Alex says, arm tightening.

Ryan pets at Alex's hair soothingly, which turns out to be a mistake because Alex just makes a happy little noise and nuzzles further into him, and Ryan's probably not going to be able to get up for a while, which means dinner's going to be baked beans or whatever.

He asks instead, "What's going to be first, do you know? When your guys get here?"

"Dunno," Alex says, yawning. "I -- probably something big. They like to make a statement."

"Right," Ryan says. He stares up at the ceiling and breathes in, and Alex shifts with the movement of his chest. Ryan thinks, be brave, and closes his eyes, just for a moment.

-

Ryan doesn't mean to fall asleep, but it's been a long time since he's had a full eight hours. He doesn't stay asleep for very long, either, because he wakes up to Alex dragging his teeth against his collarbone. Ryan whines a little, because he wanted to sleep - even though he's hungry and dinner is soon - and because Alex is very warm and heavy on top of him and Ryan kind of wants a drink of water. His mouth is dry.

"You're awake," Alex tells him. "Good. Here," and Alex is tugging at Ryan's shirt - he never meant to fall asleep so he never took it off. Usually, if he falls asleep without a shirt it's an intentional choice. Alex doesn't ever get the chance to take his shirt off for him. Alex doesn't get to take much of anything off for him.

Ryan lets a breath out through his teeth. "Hi."

"Hello," Alex says, sitting up a little, hands at Ryan's sides. Alex is pressing down hard, and Ryan is suddenly very aware of how bony his ribs are and the way Alex’s fingers press against them. Ryan feels grounded in this moment. "Hey, how are you?"

"I'm awake, like you said," Ryan laughs, the sound slipping out unintentionally, and he isn't sure what he's laughing at.

Alex bends his head down to kiss over Ryan's sternum. His hair's pulled back in a loose ponytail - Ryan hasn't had time to play with it in a while - so only his bangs are out, but the ends of those tickle a bit anyway, and Ryan squirms, not really trying to get away but just feeling a little overwhelmed.

"Maybe," Alex says, skimming his fingernails over Ryan's stomach in vast, looping patterns that go as far north as his sternum but not ever quite as far south as Ryan wants. "Maybe they'll go for the state prison. Hey, up."

Ryan lifts his hips, compliant, and helps Alex in pushing down his jeans, then wonders what he's doing. This isn't - but Alex is so distracting, and Ryan wants, so it's okay.

"Or the Air Force base," Alex says, and he sounds more excited by that prospect. "Yeah, the base; the prison has too many innocent people. But the base, we'd be taking out helicopters and planes and all that shit. Buy a little time."

"Don't go, if it's military," Ryan says, distracted, and he pulls Alex up to kiss him again because he's not sure how much more he can take. "I mean - anything else," he says, between pressing quick, restless kisses to Alex's mouth. "Anywhere else. If it's the prison, one of the jails, an office building, fine, but not the air force base."

"Okay," Alex says. "Yeah, no, that would probably be a bit of a suicide mission, but if they find someone to do it - well. It's not going to be me."

"Good."

"I'm so fucking excited, though," Alex says, almost in a whisper, and Ryan curls a hand around the back of his neck. "Don't - I was going to tell you not to be scared, but it's not that you shouldn't be scared, because I'm pretty sure shit's about to get real. It's, you've got to let it go, is all. Don't let it stop you." Alex sits up again, looking down at Ryan and chewing on his own lower lip. He moves a hand lower, at the waistband of Ryan's underwear, says, "Hey, though, so I was thinking, can I - please?"

Ryan breathes in sharply, keeps himself from pushing up into Alex's hand. It's been nearly two weeks since that stupid dare, and Ryan's not a huge fan of patience and stuff when it comes to people he likes, but they live in a house full of other people, a house that's getting really busy. Mostly they've just made out a lot, and rubbed off on each other a couple of times. They share a bed and tend to wake up tangled up with each other, so of course there's been – but they haven't, they haven't—

Alex nods a little to himself and slides his hand away and Ryan gasps and presses back up into him and says, "No, no, please."

"What?"

"I mean," Ryan says, and clears his throat a little. He can't do anything about his voice, really, it's dropped lower than usual, and Alex's eyes are dark above him. "Uh. Yeah, go for your life?"

Alex laughs and slumps forward for a moment, tucking his face against Ryan's neck, nuzzling a little there. Ryan threads his hand through Alex's hair, stroking the curve of his skull, and Alex bites at his throat, sucks a kiss there that has Ryan arching his hips up, Alex's fingers slipping rough along his stomach, dipping down to trace the hollows of Ryan's hips.

"Alex," Ryan says, a little frustrated.

"I really like you, you know," Alex says conversationally, and then he slips down the bed and pulls down Ryan's underwear and takes Ryan in his mouth without any particular fanfare. Ryan's hand is still tangled in Alex's hair, and his fist clenches down without meaning to, and then he wonders if he should apologise because that's not generally considered very good manners, but Alex doesn't stop and tell him off or anything, just makes a happy little humming noise.

"Ah, fuck," Ryan says.

Alex pulls off for a moment and presses a tiny kiss to Ryan's hip. "You can pull my hair, if you like," he says.

Ryan's stamina is not particularly impressive.

-

He cooks dinner – a stirfry, in the end, rice and tofu and eggs and spring onions that Alex chops up for him in apology for distracting him – feeling just a little bit hazy, moving slow and sure, and Greta smirks at him across the table, making him flush. Darren and Alex are involved in an intense conversation about logistics and where people are staying and how many they're going to be expected to put up – not many, apparently there's some hitherto unknown safe house that will be getting most of the guests – but Alex has his hand high up on Ryan's leg under the table, and Ryan flicks a glance at the clock on the wall, wondering how soon he can get away with dragging Alex off to bed for an early night.

Jeff says, "So. Word is that it's Monday," and Alex barks a laugh. It's not a fake one, but it still makes Ryan a little uncomfortable, scraping his fork across his plate for the last grains of rice.

"Okay," Greta says, and smiles down at her plate. Ryan wonders if she's as nervous as he is. Probably not. Greta's pretty tough. "Are we ready?"

"I was born ready, baby," Darren tells her.

"I've always though that," Greta says. "I'm sorry for casting doubt upon you."

"As you should be," Darren agrees. "I forgive you, it's okay."

"Great," Greta says. "That'll help me with, you know, sleeping at night and stuff."

"I like to help out," Darren says.

"That's good news," Sam says, "since you're on dishes duty tonight," and Darren groans, slumping back in his chair. Ryan bites his lip on a smile. He hopes to fuck this doesn't change. He's not quite sure what he'd do with himself. He likes the way things are.

He doesn't realize Alex is watching him until Alex's hand slides further up his thigh, making Ryan jump. Alex grins at him, raising his eyebrows.

"If they're doing the dishes," he says, low, and Ryan nods, trying not to look too eager.

"Yeah," Ryan says. "It's, you know. Definitely bed time. Since the chores are taken care of." He fakes a yawn, covering his mouth with his hand.

"Oh my god," Darren says. "That's not fair. Sam, make them do the dishes."

"Both of them?" Sam asks. "So you don't want clean dishes, right? Because I don't think those slackers are even gonna try."

"Nope," Alex says, smiling innocently as he squeezes Ryan's leg. "Way too tired. You know how it is. I'd probably end up dropping half the plates or something."

"You can't tell me that's fair," Darren says, not to anyone in particular. He lets his head drop backwards, staring up at the ceiling before getting to his feet and clearing the last of the dishes from the table. "I'm gonna have to sue or something."

"Right, the legal system was definitely made for these kinds of disputes." Jeff nods. "I'll just see about submitting the case to the courts, you know. I'm sure no one would notice that you've been wanted for years."

"Well, no, yeah, of course not," Darren says. "This is a way more important issue. Ryan and Alex not doing chores because they're busy being huge jerks."

"One day our turns will come," Ryan tells him, trying to be consoling. He gets up, and pats Darren on the shoulder. He's trying to think what he can do that would be more patronizing, like ruffling Darren's hair maybe, but then Alex has grabbed him by the hand and is leading him away so he doesn't. "So, y'know. Gonna go grab some shut-eye."

"I wasn't aware shut-eye meant cock," Sam says.

"It's an archaic usage of the term, I'm pretty sure," Greta tells him earnestly. "From the middle ages. I think it might be derived from the Latin."

"Oh, yeah, right, the Latin," Sam nods.

Alex drags him out of the kitchen and down the hall while Ryan's still got his mouth open to respond, and Ryan ends up laughing helplessly, especially when Alex shuts the door to his bedroom and almost moves to lock it, except there isn't any lock.

"I don't think they're gonna come in, man," Ryan says.

Alex turns to stare, looking harried. “They want to ruin my life, though.”

"Yeah, of course," Ryan agrees. "I can't see why I didn't realise it earlier."

"You're against me too." Alex shakes a finger at Ryan, and then he draws closer and hovers in front of Ryan, hands tucked in his pockets. Ryan leans back against the door, waiting, and Alex's eyes dart down and up. Ryan sucks in a breath. Alex darts in closer, presses his mouth quick and warm against Ryan's, and then leans back and says, "Hey, hey."

"What's up?" Ryan whispers.

"I was thinking," Alex says. "I. We don't have to but I was wondering if you, like. Wanted to fuck."

Ryan frowns. "What have we been doing so far?" he asks, because okay, they hadn't done a lot of it yet, but Alex had blown him earlier and Ryan had totally returned the favour and he doesn't understand what -- "Oh," he says, eyes widening.

"It's a -- don't, let's not," Alex says, tripping over his words. "I want to -- can I, again, I want--"

"Do you have stuff?" Ryan asks.

Alex swallows. Ryan watches the line of his throat, the drag of his Adam's apple. "Yeah," he says.

"Okay," Ryan says. Alex is staring at him, and he's still hovering, pent up with nervous energy. Ryan shifts against the wall a bit. Alex didn't say, but -- Ryan knows what he wants, and he lets his head loll back against the wall, tilting his hips forward a little. He spreads his legs partly to keep his balance, but he knows, he knows what he wants, and Alex makes a small, rough sound. "You could kiss me again," Ryan says, working to keep his voice light, and Alex does.

It's been a while -- it's been a long, long while, if Ryan's honest, since there was anyone, let alone another guy, and he's grateful that Alex takes his time; grateful in the other way, too, where he's shaking again under Alex's gaze, Alex's full and undivided attention, the way Alex watches him like there's nothing else worth watching. Ryan throws a hand out and grips Alex's free wrist and Alex curls his hand around gently, coaxes it out of Ryan's grip so he can thread their fingers together instead.

There's a moment, when Alex has him on his knees, Ryan's cheek pressed against his arm, breathing in gasps so deep they're almost painful, where Ryan almost wants to ask Alex to stop, because it's too much, Alex will have too much of him after this and Ryan already doesn't know what he's going to do if anything goes wrong. He doesn't know what he'll do if anything goes wrong in a mundane way, the way things go wrong with people all the time, especially when Ryan is there with his spectacular failures, but especially with everything going on. Alex strokes a rough hand over Ryan's face, where he can reach it, and Ryan turns his head and nuzzles into Alex's palm and half-kisses, half-bites at Alex's fingertips, dragging his teeth along calluses.

When Alex says his name, Ryan begs. He doesn't want Alex to stop anymore, or ever again.

-

In the morning Ryan wakes up with Alex draped across him and a mouthful of Alex's hair, same as always. Every day is busy at the moment, and Ryan feels grateful for these moments. He closes his eyes and wriggles in further under Alex, pressing his nose to the sweaty hollow of Alex's throat. Alex smells good. The others can wait for a little while longer.

Eventually Alex wakes up, too. Ryan can tell from the sudden deep intake of breath and the way he stretches out a little bit. Ryan says a quiet hello, feeling very shy, and Alex smiles down at him through one half-opened eye while rubbing the crust out of the other one.

When Ryan bothers to move, he can still kind of feel it from last night. It's not a bad feeling, and not quite an ache, just different. He rolls his shoulders back and sits on the edge of the bed with his head bowed, rubbing at his face to try and wake himself up.

Today is just as full as every other day has been the past few weeks, and when Ryan looks at the clock he realizes he has somewhere to be - they got some more information from another group, and he has to relay it to someone across the other side of Sunset Boulevard. He hasn't had to cross that street yet, and he's gotten a lot of advice, but everyone else was busy when they realized someone would have to go.

Ryan takes care of it. In the near distance, everywhere he goes, he hears sirens. They never seem to get any closer or further away, and fade into ambient noise after a while. The sky is uncharacteristically overcast. The girl Ryan is meeting has a black bandana slung around her neck, and wears a black dress and black leggings. Her wide leather belt is accessorized with twin revolvers in tooled leather holsters.

By lunchtime, Ryan is back home, and he grabs some granola Greta made a few days back before he has to leave again. No one's even around when he's there. When he gets home again, though, most everyone is home.

There are people coming tomorrow.

-

In the morning, Greta does her makeup and curls her hair. Ryan spends too long picking out an interesting outfit entirely in shades of grey, and Alex doesn't bother showering but he does insist on having Ryan pretty up his hair with black and charcoal ribbons.

"We're going to be the coolest kids at the riot," Sam says over breakfast, laughing, and Alex grins at him and even Ryan is feeling the excitement. It's difficult not to. It's not for sure, yet, that anything will happen today, but it seems likely.

Patience is running low, though, everyone a little jittery since today is meant to be the day. Before he's even finished his pancakes - it's a pancake day, in celebration, because they found some vegan maple syrup that got dumped for being just a little too foamy - Jeff looks at the clock and says, "Looks like it's time for me to go. I'll be right back, okay, guys?"

"Okay," Greta says, and gives him a hug that everyone else joins in on a minute later. Ryan probably hasn't had anything to do with a group hug since, most recently, elementary school. It's kind of nice.

Twenty minutes later and Jeff is back with three guys. Alex stands up, shakes one of their hands - "Julian, man, it's been fucking ages. It's good to see you again. And you've got to be Conor, right? Hey, great. How the fuck did we never hang out before?"

Conor shrugs. "I guess we must have been busy."

"I wasn't ever busy," Alex laughs. "Unless you count being busy partying. I heard a lot about you, man, and Omaha. Good shit."

"Really, Alex?" the last guy says, and Ryan startles a little at the accent. Other than Tennessee, it's been a long time since he's heard an English accent, or anything European, really. He's been running into a lot more South and Central American accents, and Mexican ones as well, of late. What's left of the immigrant population that didn't flee home years ago is just as invested in this as the rest of them. Ryan is still surprised. "I don't even get a hello?"

"Hey Mark," Alex says, and he seems nervous, leaning in to look at Mark closely. Mark opens his arms up for a hug but Alex is busy examining him.

Mark's eyebrows go up, confused and a little puzzled. "Yes? Do I have something on my face?"

Alex laughs and shakes his head, and gives Mark a hug, but he breaks away sooner than he usually does and scuttles back a little, bumping up against Ryan. Ryan gives him a startled look and Mark tilts his head, watching Alex carefully. Alex laughs again, and then he curls his fingers around Ryan's shoulder and says, "Anyway, hey, so. This is Ryan."

Ryan waves. Julian nods at him and Conor leans forward to shake his hand. His grip is warm and firm but he's wearing sunglasses and they weird Ryan out a little bit, even though they're not government standard; vintage, he thinks probably Ray Bans.

"Nice to meet you," Mark says, smiling at him, and Ryan smiles back because Mark has a nice grin and he looks friendly and like he cares about Alex, only Alex's fingers tighten on Ryan's shoulder. Ryan turns to him, half-frowning, and Alex rolls his eyes, making a face at himself.

"All right," Ryan says aloud, and Mark and Julian give him a slightly curious look. Conor sticks his hands in his pockets and nods, but his eyes are hidden by his sunglasses so Ryan's not even sure if Conor's looking at him.

"Fuck," Mark says, shaking his head. "It has been a long, long while."

"Yeah," Alex says, still looking faintly uneasy, and then he shakes his head, face clearing and repeats, "Yes. You guys getting lazy up there or what?"

Julian laughs, rolling his eyes. "Sure, obviously," he says. "New York's a bore, you know."

"I've heard that," Alex agrees.

"This place is crazy," Conor adds, startling Ryan a little. "Our train got boarded three times, you know? The security is insane."

"You seemed to make it alright," Alex says. "But, yeah. I mean. That's the point, isn't it? Shake things up a bit."

Ryan snickers quietly. Alex gives him an affronted look, and Ryan laughs a little, tilting forward to press his mouth against Alex's shoulder. He stiffens when he realises what he's done, darting a glance up at the other three, but Alex just puts his arm around Ryan's shoulders and the only one of the guys who reacts is Mark. He looks mildly curious.

"So," Alex says, and bares his teeth when he smiles. "What's going on?"

-

They leave when the sun's only been down for a little while, the sky still with a sheen of light to it. Ryan tracks the clouds crossing it, wonders if there'll be any stars tonight. They walk all together, the group of them with Mark and Conor and Julian. Alex and the three newcomers are leading the way, and Ryan feels a little ridiculous walking up front with them, but he wants to be with Alex. It's comforting, Alex's shoulder knocking against his with every step of the way, and after a while Alex tucks his hand in the pocket of Ryan's coat. His fingers are very cold when Ryan touches them, and Ryan squeezes them just once, making Alex grin without looking at him.

A couple of blocks along the way, someone says, "Well, look who's rolled back into town," and Ryan jumps for a moment, but then Z straightens from where she's been leaning against a wall and Mark laughs. Z ruffles his hair and Conor snatches her up in a hug, and she smiles politely at Julian, and then Tennessee and Annie and Laena are coming up to join them, too. Ryan watches Tennessee out of the corner of his eye, but she just gives Mark a hug, and it's not particularly awkward but not enough, either, to suggest that she's still doing the kinds of things they were apparently doing last Thanksgiving.

Z skips in between Alex and Conor, holding both of their hands. She's got a backpack on and her face is all lit up, eyes dark. Ryan catches her eye and she smiles at him, slipping out from between Alex and Conor for a second to dart back around behind him, walking on his other side. She loops her arms around his neck and says, "How you feeling?" low enough that the others can't hear it.

"I am going to be really bad at this," Ryan tells her, and Z laughs.

"Not possible," she says. "This is what we've all been waiting for."

"Not me," Ryan says.

"Yeah, you have," Z tells him. "You know you have. You found us, didn't you?"

"You found me," Ryan says.

"You had to leave for us to do that." Z rocks up on her toes and kisses his cheek, and then Laena swoops down on them both and wraps them in a hug, and Ryan laughs as soft as he can, even when Laena tugs Z away a little and gives Ryan a faintly possessive look over the top of Z's head. Alex hasn't taken his hand out of Ryan's pocket.

"What have you got in your bag, Elizabeth?" Ryan asks.

Z thumps him in the arm, but Ryan thinks it's a reflex because her voice is the same as before when she answers, "Things that go boom."

Alex tugs Ryan into his side. "Pay attention to me," he says, frowning, and Z laughs, falling back into step with Annie, Laena's arm still around her waist.

They pick up more people along the way. Ryan doesn't recognize any of them, or at least not beyond having exchange information or supplies but never names. He's becoming conscious of how conspicuous they are, a crowd of people walking straight down the middle of the road, and him right at the front, but Alex starts humming under his breath, the same song he sings at night when Ryan can't sleep, and Ryan tilts his head back and breathes. He imagines being back in his own apartment: the times it was good, when Brendon was still there, before Spencer disappeared, before he and Jon had to stop the weekends of music and getting high and pretending like life was okay. He squeezes Alex's hand and hopes they're okay, the three of them.

They walk through the main streets, and Ryan sees a police car spot them and then speed off, and he smiles up at the sky. Z's taken things out of her backpack, and Mark is holding a strange gun that Ryan doesn't really recognize.

When they stop, they're outside the State Courthouse. Alex has his chin tilted up, staring at it, and Ryan wonders if they would have taken Alex here, if they would have bothered giving him a trial. He links their fingers together, warm in Ryan's pocket, and Z and maybe ten others break free from the group, walking forward. Ryan watches them like they're in slow motion. He can hear sirens. Alex leans into him and says, "I'm so, I'm so glad you're here."

Ryan squeezes his hand again and says, "Run," and they do, with a hundred other people, scattering across the street as flames lick their way up to the sky.


End file.
